Ambrosia Hotel, northern Raith Immel
The quiet little port town of Fort Brand was barely more than a flyspeck on a map, in the north center of Raith Immel Province, and it was the conduit towards northern Raith Immel and the great stretches of forest and meadowlands. Recent discoveries of copper and zinc in the area meant that exploitation was inevitable, with certain areas designated for national parks or Elwe reservations. There had been some very angry talk but the problem was that Elwe who had come to depend on goods from the urban centers of New Edom couldn't afford to live in traditional ways any longer; they had to find jobs or rot. Furious town hall debates, protests, and calls upon the ancestral spirits meant nothing to people who had come to depend on utilities, food and clothing from the modern world. The High Prince of the Elwe of Raith Immel, Findi Lamat, was seen with a smile on his face wearing a suit shaking hands with Governor Don Golconda and Randall Fabian, Director of the New Edomite Geophysical Survey Corporal. Near thirty companies, national and international, were moving resources into the area. One of these resources was the Ambrosia Hotel. It was funded by the Brightwater Development Group in order to provide a basis for travelers and employment into the area, and act as a luxurious getaway.
Hans Streicher, the manager, was a busy, busy man. He had thinning blonde hair, a burly build and was always energetic. There was a gala of provincial bigwigs and guests coming, and he wanted everything to be perfect. The Governor, Donald Golconda, would be coming with a small entourage, as well as representatives of the companies investing in the area. He had a staff of 65 and probably needed more; he had hired as many as he could from out of province as he didn't need the extra headache of training lazy slow minded Elwe to do the work. Most of his staff were Anglo-Germans and Sorgen--Haranese and Barans tended to be too proud to do menial jobs well unless it was for family. He was glad to have an excellent master chef, Emilio Barca who came from the province of Etruria Majora, and excellent maitre d'hotel, assistant managers, concierge and chief housekeeper. There would also be entertainers coming. As he walked through the main banquet hall he was gratified to see housekeeping busy at work cleaning the immaculate hardwood floor and dusting the walls. From there out into the main lounge area the grand piano gleamed, and he then went into the main lobby, where the accountant was going over some computer issues with a tech and an assistant manager. Good. He walked from there to outside the hotel and looked out over the parking area and the road that stretched out towards the main highway and the airstrip that would be used for the arrival of helicopters and executive planes.
As he looked out over the expanse the forest surrounding the hotel suddenly gave him the shivers, but he didn't know why. He shook his head. Irrational nonsense. He had been working in the hospitality industry for twenty years; he put it down to nerves. With a faint smile he decided to go back into the hotel, have a schnapps, and then go over the preparations for the arrival of the guests, which would take place within the hour.
When he got to the bar, he went behind it, and noticed the bartender was absent, but after all they weren't properly open for business yet. He selected a bottle and a nice clean glass that gleamed like fresh clean ice, and began to pour. As he lifted it to his nose he heard a voice say softly, "Going to pour me one?"
He looked up, startled, not recognizing the voice. An Elwe stood there--slender, delicate featured, wearing a combination of modern arms and military shorts, but otherwise simply wearing paint that was an astonishingly accurate look of leaves and branches, as though a part of the forest had stepped into the room with him. The Elwe man carried an Uzi submachinegun casually in his arms and also had a bow slung across his back and a short curved blade at his belt; he had, incongruously, an electronic earpiece in one delicate ear. "I said, Mr. Manager, are you going to pour me a drink?"
"What are you doing here? This is private property--" Hans knew something was very wrong but found himself, in his shock, uttering inanities.
The Elwe shook his head. "How very rude...but no. You are shocked. Allow me." He removed the bottle gently but firmly from Hans' grasp, and poured himself a drink. Then he raised his glass. "To the Ecotopian Republic." And he drank. "This hotel is on the lands belonging to the Ecotopian Republic of Raith Immel, and I am afraid your employers built it illegally. We are claiming it. But!" he held up a hand as the now very pale and shaken Hans began to speak. "Don't say anything yet! Mr. Manager, I do not blame you and your staff. You are merely employees. And so you will understand there is nothing personal in what I am about to say. My people have seized the hotel. By now all of your staff are our prisoners. When the guests arrive, you are going to greet them politely and offer them hospitality, and then they will be taken prisoner as well. You and two others just to add...variety. Everyone else's lives depend on your cooperation." He narrowed his eyes. "I urge you not to test me on this. If you resist me in any way I promise you one person will die for your every act of foolishness."
"Man..." said Hans, in a firmer tone, his courage re-asserting itself. "Don't do it. It's madness. There is too much against you. I promise I will forget the whole matter if you leave."
"Ah, my Anglo-German friend, you have courage, I will grant you that. But it is fools' courage. We are prepared to die, and have our comrades die. Are you?" The Elwe watched him. "I have spoken enough of this, now I want you to do as you are told. Finish your drink and let's go."
"Wait--who are you?" Hans exclaimed.
"For now, call me Eidolon. I am of the Red Branch."
