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Setting the Stage; Miscellaneous Posts Bridging the Gap from One Dedicated RP to Another
Topic Started: Mar 27 2015, 02:00 AM (345 Views)
Mastropa
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

The military bands played triumphantly as column after column of Achaian troops marched through the main square of Kerkyra, in front of the Megaron’s towering façade and the temporary stage set up before it in the middle of what would otherwise be the main thoroughfare of the city. Officers and men, all in dress uniforms, marched by to the beat of the upbeat march—one of the few cultural pieces the Achaians could be proud of, though Kerameikos personally wasn’t impressed by it—followed by the rumbling of tanks and APCs, transport trucks and howitzers. Then more men arrived to march by the stage, saluting the anax and his wife as they watched the procession, the logothetai arranged around them to show the unified stance of the Megaron as a whole. They shared space with several prominent presvyteroi, whose salutes were representative of Makaria’s blessing, given freely to men and women who had fought on her behalf against those who refused to accept or accommodate her people’s needs and desires. To either side of these stood the vasileis of the Achaian Council, who had no reason to salute soldiers not fighting under the banners of their tribes, but who nonetheless bore witness to the might of the Achaian people, whose soldiers included some that the anax had drafted from the various tribes as was his right according to the Kerkyra Compact. The vasileis’ expressions varied from solemn appreciation to complete disinterest, but none of them had any reason to attract Kerameikos’s ire through such a pointless exercise as being disrespectful to his soldiers. They would certainly not do so in public, as the rest of the square and the buildings surrounding it were thronged with people celebrating the return of their family and friends from the front lines of Melzae.

The last column marched up to the stage half an hour after the first had gone by, but this one, unlike its predecessors, stopped in front of the platform and faced the anax fully. Kerameikos nodded approvingly at its leaders: his own sons, the strategoi Kamatero and Cholargos, and the commander-in-chief of the expedition, General Aigisthos. The three men held their salutes for a long moment after the rest of the men in the column behind them had lowered theirs, and called in unison, “Anax of Makaria’s Achaians, the Shield of the goddess defend you! Her warriors return draped in glory, and present themselves for commendation!”

Kerameikos lowered his own salute and answered formulaically, “I see Makaria’s warriors before me, and I shall commend them as the goddess has charged me.” He motioned for his sons and the general to join him on the stage as he looked out over the soldiers and the assembled members of the public behind them, and the television cameras that recorded everything for the evening news. The anax wondered how many of these people were celebrating the victory, and how many were simply celebrating the end of the fighting and the return of their kin; he had to guess that very few of them really cared about the creation of New Peloponnese, or the fate of the people who were set to live there. The anax had already promised that he would do his absolute best to reverse this apathy. Makaria’s Shield did not protect those that would not struggle on her behalf—and regardless of the true devotion of the so-called ‘foreign’ Makarians for whom New Peloponnese had been set aside, all Achaians stood to benefit from the strength of the military and the firm rebuke given to their neighbors across the Sundra Channel, whose vast numbers in terms of manpower alone loomed over the Achaian people as an understated but no less potent threat.

“Achaians!” Kerameikos called out. “Less than a week ago, you woke to the news of war. You learned that your family and friends, in service to their people and the nation, had been sent across the sea to do battle on foreign soil, perhaps never to return. There was danger in it, for the soldiers and for the Achaian people, but for us there is always danger. To those who faced it on our behalf, I give the greatest thanks in my power. To those who did not return, I send my prayers to Makaria, so that she may smile on the memory of their sacrifice.”

Kerameikos purposely ignored the slight grimaces that passed over the faces of some of the vasileis. The Cult of Makaria advocated the absolute authority of the anax, which the vasileis and their followers had rejected almost as soon as the Peloponnese had come under the control of Vyronas, the first anax. Rejecting Vyronas’s authority meant rejecting the cult, and while some of the tribes had proved more open to outside religious influences over the centuries since, the worship of Makaria was all but banned—especially after previous anakes had used their limited power over the vasileis to construct Makarian temples in territories that accepted them only under duress. But the military was the anax’s to command, and just as the Kerkyra Compact protected the independence of the vasileis, it reciprocated by allowed the anax to collect a number of tribal Achaians for the Peloponnesian military. Upon taking up arms for the Peloponnesian Achaians, every soldier was expected to be a Makarian, and the vasileis could not prevent the anax from using this opportunity to bring as many tribal Achaians into the fold of the cult as possible. It was an age-old resentment, but no attempt to address it could succeed without rewriting the Kerkyra Compact, which was a ‘solution’ that Kerameikos refused to consider.

“This was, for most of you, not your first test in battle,” the anax continued. “The Peloponnesians among you have served your tours in the Makarian Expeditionary Forces, remaining battle-ready even as all the Achaians around them go on with their lives in peace. Those of you who have joined us under the auspices of tribal tribute were likewise familiar with martial prowess, given the vigilance of your militias and the security of your borders, facing off against the chaotic wilderness that surrounds us. You were hardened by the rigors of war long before I called on you for this special duty; for that I give thanks to Makaria, for your training and your experience have allowed you to return to us, victorious and alive!” There was a scattered cheer from the watching crowd at this point, though again Kerameikos wondered how many were actually interested in the victory, and how many were only relieved that their relatives had survived.

“Your victory has brought glory to the Peloponnese,” the anax continued, “but far more importantly, it has brought security and strength to the Achaian people! No longer do the masses of Melzae stare across the waters at us, waiting for a day when we turn our gaze elsewhere, so that they can swallow us in their millions. No longer will the trade of the world pass through a sea subject to Melzaean capriciousness, avarice, and incompetence. No longer will we grit our teeth in frustration as the international community takes Melzae’s needs and desires into account long before it remembers us. By your hands, soldiers of the Peloponnese, the Achaians’ future is assured!”

Kerameikos paused for a moment. He had hesitated to add this to his speech, but if he was honest, being mute on the matter wouldn’t make anyone forget about it. And as much as the general populace of the Peloponnese felt only hostility toward those foreign-born Achaians who had shared space with them for the last two generations, their opinion could only be improved at this point, and the anax felt that it was in his interests to improve it as much as possible in order to call on both the Achaian and foreign Makarians should the need arise.

As such, he turned his attention to that future he had mentioned. “In place of Melzae’s looming gaze, we have established a new homeland for Makaria’s devoted followers. My grandfather promised long ago that Makaria’s faithful, no matter their place of birth, would have a home under her Shield; but the Peloponnese proved unsuitable for these people, and their homes here have never been happy.” There was some grumbling from the crowd, but Kerameikos ignored it. “But the opportunity has finally come to us, all of us, and by my authority we fully grasped it! Now our fellow Makarians—true Achaians, through their service and their worship—have the home my grandfather promised to them; they shall hold this New Peloponnese as a mark of Makaria’s favor, and as a guard against the Melzaean hordes, whose hold on our new territories remains broken only as long as we remain vigilant against it.”

And that, of course, led to the business of governance. Kerameikos allowed his ‘inspirational’ tone to fall away, in order to turn his attention to those drier aspects of the Achaians’ new lands. “To that end,” he continued, “the Office of Military Affairs has already devised and implemented procedures to make New Peloponnese as safe as any place in the Peloponnese itself. During the war, any Melzaean who was discovered by our armed forces was detained until hostilities ceased; now they are being removed from New Peloponnese entirely, and placed back under the authority of Melzae so that they will be with their own people, and more importantly, they will not be among ours.” There were, of course, some exceptions, but that was hardly for public consumption. “The military is acting to ensure the safety not only of those who will live in New Peloponnese, but also the safety of Achaians here at home, whose security now depends on the existence of New Peloponnese as a vital buffer between the Peloponnese and the dangerous influence of Melzae. I have ordered that elements of the Achaian military shall remain in New Peloponnese for as long as any Melzaean threat remains. Nonetheless, we can all expect the troops currently deployed to return home again, as their places are taken up by Makarians living within New Peloponnese who are ready and eager to prove to you all that they, too, are Achaians, worthy of the place under Makaria’s protection that our military has vouchsafed for them.”

That was a shot across the bow for most of the people listening, but Kerameikos again ignored any grumbling and continued with barely a pause. “I have selected General Aigisthos, who stands beside me now, to command this military garrison, in light of his accomplishments in bringing our late war to a swift and victorious conclusion. The general will be tasked with the security of New Peloponnese and its people, and by that effort he will maintain the security of all Achaians.” Kerameikos turned to nod at the general, who saluted again. “He shall answer to me as his anax,” Kerameikos continued, “but due to the unique circumstances, I am obliged to designate Strategos Kamatero”—the anax nodded to his son and heir—“to administer New Peloponnese as my representative, and to be invested fully with the powers of the anakate in the territory of New Peloponnese. In this way, the Megaron will guarantee the success of New Peloponnese’s administration, and ensure that no issues or emergencies at home in the Peloponnese will prevent or interrupt the operation of government in these newly-gained territories.

“I have required these measures because I know how fragile our gains in New Peloponnese might become, should we fail to protect and nurture them. The government of Melzae failed to provide for its people and its land, and so it failed the one and lost the other. We must not follow in the footsteps of our enemies, or else we will lose our way entirely. We must stand strong and united, all Achaians alike, and face the world as one people under the protection of Makaria’s Shield! In this wider world, only a single people with a united vision can rise above the chaos and prosper. Only when we work together can we succeed.”
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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Mastropa
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

The vasileis stood around the conference table, looking anywhere but at each other, as the anax entered the room. Kerameikos nodded as his ‘guests’ bowed their heads to him, waiting to sit until the anax had taken his place at the head of the table. Kerameikos reached his seat and waited for a moment, looking over every vasilefs—partly, he admitted to himself, to remind them of his primacy—before he finally said, “Let it be recorded that the Achaian Council has convened in full. Take your seats.”

The anax settled in his seat, and the vasileis followed suit; Kerameikos noted with private derision how Vasilefs Monastiraki struggled to lever his vast bulk into the provided chair, while muttering unflattering things about being made to stand for so long in front of Kerkyra’s new crews. Vasilissa Kaisariani gave the man sitting beside her a scathing look, but kept her opinion to herself otherwise. Vasilefs Ymittos was less circumspect, though his ire was directed at Vasilissa Exarcheia: “Show some decorum!”

Exarcheia, who immediately upon sitting down had laid her head in her arms on the tabletop, glanced up at the irritated man and replied, “Unlike Kalymnos, Lakonia requires that a person in my position actually do things. I’m entitled to some relaxation no matter where we are.”

Kerameikos gritted his teeth. “As one of those ‘things’ you are expected to do is interact with this council, Vasilissa, I would appreciate it if you provided this meeting with your full attention,” he bit out. Exarcheia sighed like a petulant child as she sat up, and Kerameikos once again wondered how difficult it would be to have his most troublesome vasilissa deposed or assassinated. Granted, the behavior of her sparring partner was really no better, and the anax had more than once wondered about the likelihood of seeing Ymittos removed, as well.

The tribe of Kalymnos would not miss him, at least, given that the succession was already assured. Ymittos was a man of Kerameikos’s generation, with grown children and an already-selected heir, but the death of his wife six years previously had apparently persuaded Vasilefs Irakleio of Lakonia to try to improve relations between his warlike tribe and that of a more modernized society by offering Ymittos his young daughter as a replacement bride. Ymittos had been extremely unimpressed; the insults leveled at Exarcheia could only have been legendary, given that Exarcheia’s response to them had been to implicate Ymittos in the murder of her father later that year. The girl’s immediate rise to the position of vasilissa, jumping over two older brothers who quickly fled to the Peloponnese and adopted Makarianism, coincided with Lakonia’s declaration of war against Kalymnos. Kerameikos had been forced to deploy the Achaian military to prevent armed conflict in the Achaian Gulf, while the ‘mysterious’ bombing of a Kalymnian police station and the ‘equally baffling’ massacre of a Lakonian labor camp were met with threats from the Megaron to occupy both territories and install vasileis of Kerameikos’s choosing. Only proof of actual preparations to that effect persuaded Exarcheia to back down, but she nonetheless refused to give up her claim as vasilissa, and her popularity among the Lakonians (which had become immense due to her pursuit of ‘justice’ against Ymittos, the man she maintained was responsible for her father’s death—despite plenty of proof Ymittos provided to the contrary) meant that Kerameikos could not forcefully depose her without going to war with the entire Lakonian tribe. To Ymittos’s irritation, Kerameikos had eventually compromised by allowing Exarcheia to sign the Kerkyra Compact, on the condition that she gave up any ambition to attack Kalymnos or its people, with the understanding that any attack on Kalymnos would be assumed to be Exarcheia’s responsibility unless Ymittos or his successors volunteered evidence to the contrary. Prevented from gaining vengeance through blood (whether for her father or for Ymittos’s insults, no one was quite certain anymore), Exarcheia had thereafter spent every gathering of the Achaian Council in minor rebellion, frustrating both Vasilefs Ymittos and Anax Kerameikos to no end. Sadly, while Kerameikos could censure Exarcheia as much as he liked, he could not remove her from the Achaian Council without the unanimous agreement of all the vasileis, and Exarcheia had been quick to find an ally in Vasilissa Kypseli of Ikaria, whose own grievances against Vasilefs Ymittos made her extremely sympathetic to anyone intending to cause trouble for him.

More than once, Kerameikos had considered effecting Ymittos’s removal himself, so that the prior understanding of Lakonian complicity would allow him to destroy Lakonia, and Exarcheia specifically, with the full support of the remaining vasileis. Unfortunately for his ambition, Ymittos had his own allies, and any hint of the Megaron’s involvement in such a plot would spell the dissolution of the Achaian Council and another bloody bout of civil war, even well after the fact. Kerameikos had chosen instead to simply limit the meetings of the Achaian Council, calling for them only when he had no further options. Such was the case today—regardless of Vasilefs Monastiraki’s continued grumbling.

“…did not require the whole lot of us standing on a stage for hours, praising a deity whose priests constantly scoff at us, in front of people who were long ago persuaded by your propaganda that we are traitors to the Achaian state!”

Apparently the vasilefs had chosen to air his grievances aloud while Kerameikos had been monitoring the dangerous glares being exchanged by Exarcheia and Ymittos, but the anax had certainly caught the last portion. Sending his own glare to the complaining irritant, Kerameikos said shortly, “I remind you that Argolidans marched in that parade, and that several of them died in battle over the course of this war. Your participation in honoring their sacrifice was required. Moving on.”

“If I may interrupt,” Vasilefs Peiraias said, “I would like to stay on the topic of the war for the moment. Pagkrati told me some very interesting things about a shipment of prisoners kept in Thesprotia for a short while. Why does New Peloponnese require a labor pool on the model of Serres or Lakonia, exactly?”

“Does it matter?” Kerameikos asked. The look on Peiraias’s face indicated that it did indeed matter; the anax sighed. “New Peloponnese is made up of enough territory to make a home for millions. At the moment, the population is the size of a good-sized village. In order to make the territory productive, a labor force will be required. It is my hope that the availability of labor will also attract future settlers, so that we see the population increase from this point on.”

“Who will oversee this labor force, if the population is so small?” asked Vasilissa Kaisariani, who in addition to governing Serres held a massive personal estate staffed and made profitable by slaves under the direction of trusted overseers.

“The military,” answered the anax.

Vasilefs Peiraias nodded slowly. “I’m certain that you’ll have at least some increase in population,” he said. “However, I can’t help but wonder what drove you to send the Achaian people to war on behalf of a ‘village,’ Anax. When you gathered us together and demanded our military contributions, you implied that the Peloponnese was being subjected to a flood of foreign refugees, but now that it’s over you tell us that you’re all but begging for someone to live in territory that you send Achaians to their deaths to obtain?”

Kerameikos frowned at the accusation, and a glance around the table showed him just how many of the vasileis wanted an explanation. The anax tried not to let his seething show, but it was difficult to hear still more critical questions even after the victory had been won. “Then you misunderstood me,” he said flatly. “I said that the converts could not stay in the Peloponnese; I never said the reason. Your assumptions are your own, I’m afraid.” Peiraias, to say nothing of the other vasileis, gave the anax skeptical glances at this, and Kerameikos clenched his fist under the table in lieu of growling. “Nonetheless, my reasons for war do not pertain to this meeting,” he said. “It is my right as anax of the Peloponnese to make war when I deem it necessary, and it is furthermore my right to levy contributions from the vasileis should circumstances require. I did these things to provide a homeland for the foreigners, yes, but I also created a buffer zone between Melzaean influence and Achaian territories, and obtained a strong position in the Astolan Sea in the meantime. I did these things for the benefit of all Achaians, and I see no reason why we should continue complaining when the war has already been won.”

“Perhaps the vasilefs is worried that this will be the beginning of many future such adventures,” Kaisariani pointed out.

Kerameikos nodded to her. “Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it is not my intention to ‘adventure’ with the Achaian military any more than I deem necessary.” A lifetime of being compared to an anax who had done just that, and who had nearly brought the Achaian people to ruin as a result, had made Kerameikos very cautious in that regard—and while he had his dreams, the anax had sworn to himself that he would not put them above the wellbeing of his people.

Should the people be at no risk from that dreaming, however…

Indeed, the anax thought, it was time to bring this meeting to its intended point. “I trust that there is nothing more to be said about the Melzaean conflict?” he asked. The vasileis largely shook their heads, either uninterested or aware that the anax had nothing more to say on the matter. Kerameikos nodded. “I have convened the Achaian Council for a few interrelated matters, which center on the current unpleasantness going on in the south.” The anax looked in the direction of his least-favorite vasilissa. “Your little stunt cost me a great deal of face, Vasilissa,” he nearly snarled. “You slaughtered refugees in international territory that neither you nor anyone else has exclusive command over, in such a way that your involvement could not have been mistaken for anything else. Makaria knows that I warned them, but even that hasn’t been enough to stem the criticism. I have you to thank for a nasty letter from Zaliviya and my logothetis’s personal discussion with the Gileadan ambassador; I am most displeased that either of these nations is looking into Achaian affairs—yes, including yours!—and to have both of them looking over our shoulders at once would normally be enough to demand that you be thrown from the council and your seat as vasilissa.”

It was the first time that he had put his thoughts to words, and Exarcheia’s hiss of fury punctuated the rest of the room’s silence. “However,” Kerameikos continued without waiting for her response, “I cannot afford to be at war with you when we all have other matters to worry about. At this point, I will put the matter aside for convenience’s sake. But rest assured that I will not put the Megaron’s reputation at risk to defend you, Vasilissa. If you have any defense to offer the rest of the world, provide Diaktoros with a written statement that he will distribute on your behalf. We will not put our words to work for you again.”

Exarcheia was certainly no longer ‘resting,’ given the glare she aimed at the anax. “Given your pitiful attempts at public speaking today, I wouldn’t want you to defend me to the rest of the world even if you had offered,” she sneered. “I will take care of this matter myself.”

“You will take care of it through Diaktoros, or I will eject you from the Achaian Council for violating the stipulations of the Kerkyra Compact,” snapped Kerameikos. The vasilissa scowled, but nodded. “Say the words.”

“I will speak through your office or not at all,” Exarcheia said in a monotone.

Kerameikos nodded sharply. “See to it,” he said. Leaning back in his seat, he allowed his gaze to turn back to the rest of the room. “Having said all that, this situation is not entirely unfortunate. If nothing else, we have a… slight opportunity here, even if it is dressed in the clothes of humiliation.” He looked to Vasilefs Peiraias. “Akarnania would be most able to help me in this endeavor, Vasilefs.”

Peiraias raised an eyebrow. “What are you after?” he asked.

“As part of his meeting with the Gileadan ambassador, Logothetis Diaktoros made a vague promise on behalf of the Megaron to remain alert for additional refugees on their way north from Zambiwa. As it stands, the promise is meaningless; as the logothetis already explained to Gilead, the Peloponnese has little power outside of its borders, especially when it is separated from the territory in question by another state entirely. However, that is something that we can change. Your territories, Vasilefs, do border this wilderness, although much farther north. Your Akarnanians are capable of entering the wilderness and establishing a space where these refugees might encounter you and be made safe.”

The vasilefs frowned. “That’s quite a distance to transport our people and materiel,” he said, understating the case. “And I have no intention of having my people involved in any encounter between these refugees and Lakonian patrols.”

“The patrols will stay home,” Kerameikos said firmly. He glared at Exarcheia. “They will stay home,” he repeated, “and troops from the Peloponnese will be present as well in order to ensure it.” To Peiraias the anax continued, “I ask that you aid in this endeavor for a couple of different reasons. Firstly, it is important to introduce our critics to a tribe that is willing and able to work with the international community—or at least, that’s how it will be put to the world at large.” Peiraias nodded, recognizing that corporations based in Akarnania were not always above obtaining free labor either from Lakonia’s markets or through raids done by their own private security firms. “Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, I intend for permanent infrastructure to link this territory to the Achaian homelands. If we have it, we will not relinquish it.”

Peiraias blinked. “I see what you’re saying,” he said, “but that sounds even more troublesome. Turning camps into permanent towns—and expecting people to live in them—will take a great deal of effort, especially given that the land you propose to build them in is entirely empty. My people will be glad that they don’t have to risk a fight to build, but who are they building for, exactly?”

“Possibly the Zambiwans themselves, assuming any more arrive,” Kerameikos answered. “Possibly for your own people as time goes on. People will move where they find the opportunities, and while it may take a generation or two, I do not doubt that any temporary camp you establish will eventually become a thriving town as long as it is linked to civilization and proven to have its own value.”

“Its own value?”

The anax nodded. “Timber especially, given that our territories have largely lost their forests. Zambiwa has been advertising its oil reserves for years; it is time to see if there are any within our reach, as well. I am confident that there are minerals worth mining in the territories surrounding us, as well. Hopefully such things will tempt your people into moving, and the extra space will eventually allow for a population boom.”

“Assuming the hinterland is as unoccupied as you say, Anax,” Vasilissa Kaisariani began, “what is stopping the rest of us from expanding for the sake of resources?”

Kerameikos glared. “I am suggesting that Peiraias take advantage of a clearly-stated invitation by one of the Powers, regarding territory that is, as we have said, entirely empty,” he said. “You’ll find that no other wilderness territory falls into both of these categories at once, though yes, that which borders Serres is almost as depopulated as that surrounding Lakonia. Perhaps if the trickle of refugees from Tataloona becomes more substantial, and more obvious to the international eye, you might be able to set up similar camps to house and pass on refugees looking for safe havens elsewhere. Until that time, however, I will not sanction any Serrian construction outside of your already-established borders.”

Kaisariani raised an eyebrow in challenge; Kerameikos snorted and turned away, refusing to argue with her about the matter. Unlike Exarcheia, the older Kaisariani had always proven to be much more tactful in her policies, and usually much more successful as well. The anax had briefly considered courting her before turning to the Cult of Makaria for a bride instead, and though he never regretted marrying Kifisia, he sometimes wondered what would have become of him if he had married the vasilissa instead. Certainly the politics would have been more difficult… but perhaps more fun, as well.

“Do I have your agreement for this task, Vasilefs?” Kerameikos asked Peiraias.

The other man nodded. “I’ll start preparations as soon as I return to Akarnania.”

“In that case, I will have messages delivered to Zambiwa’s RCSCD and the Gileadan embassy in Kerkyra,” Kerameikos said with finality. “Is there any further business?” He turned to Exarcheia, expecting her to fight her neighbor’s expansion in order to retain her borders with the wilderness, but the vasilissa wasn’t even looking at him. Her contemplative expression made the anax rather nervous, actually, given that he had hoped to eliminate her ability to cause him trouble in this matter entirely; if she found something new to focus on, there was every chance that she would find a means of turning it against him and her other rivals in the end. The vasilissa glanced over after a moment to find Kerameikos’s attention on her, and finally scowled, but the anax had a feeling that she was only doing it because it was expected of her at this point. No one else spoke a word.

“Then I believe we are adjourned,” Kerameikos said, and rose from his seat to leave.
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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Mastropa
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Kalymnos at first glance was a fully-industrialized, if somewhat isolated, modern state. Its factories and marketplaces served a wealthy population of industrialists, and while nobles still held sway over rural areas, even they had been forced to dabble in business in order to maintain their accustomed wealth. A little more than a hundred years before, Kalymnos better resembled the agricultural societies of the tribes to the south and west, though with a smaller dependence on forced labor; that, however, had changed with the international intervention that had accompanied the advent of the Xenos Dynasty, as Kalymnos and the neighboring tribe of Ikaria found themselves occupied and their societies completely remade by the mercantile interests of the international commanders. Now the two tribes competed for business and influence, and on the surface resembled any other industrialized nation.

Only a closer inspection would reveal the idiosyncrasies. The ports, for instance, were not entirely busy, and no foreign ship could be found flying any standard but the Megaron’s. Every brand name in the markets could be traced to domestic owners or to the Peloponnese. Despite the influence of foreign interests in the transformation of Kalymnian and Ikarian society and economic activity, it had not taken long for the anakate to reestablish its rights over the tribal territories according to the Kerkyra Compact, including the right to represent all Achaians on the international stage—including in trade.

That Pelponnesian privilege, and the firm desire to escape its stifling grasp, was foremost on Vasilefs Ymittos’s mind as he took his seat in the family dining hall in his palace, having returned from Kerkyra only an hour or so before. As servants, all hired Kalymnians—no slaves having served the royal household even prior to the enforced modernization to mitigate security risks—brought out platters of steaming meat, the vasilefs filled a goblet from a nearby decanter and took a long swallow. Only after he knocked the glass back onto the table did he pay either of his dining companions any attention at all. “Either that was the most interesting or the most pointless sitting of the council that I have ever experienced. Take note, Psychiko: Things are changing in the Peloponnese.”

The vasilefs’s two children, who had been waiting for their father’s arrival for half an hour already, perked up at this pronouncement. Psychiko, the elder of the two, took a sip of wine and visibly tried to think of something relevant to say. He finally settled on, “Does this change affect Kalymnos?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t wonder whether or not I had just wasted my time,” growled Ymittos. Psychiko ducked his head in embarrassment, but the vasilefs waved the annoyance away and speared a thick slice of fat-glistening ham. “But at the very least, we know that the anax will be distracted from here on out. He’s decided to help Peiraias build refugee camps in the wilderness, and put himself at odds with Exarcheia in the process; the military will be involved. Between that and ‘New Peloponnese’”—Ymittos sneered at the idea of setting up a ‘new’ homeland for the Achaian people anywhere, let alone in gods-forsaken Nusantara—“I don’t anticipate the Office of Military Affairs having time for anything else. Even ignoring Akarnania, the anax will have Peloponnesian troops defending the border with Melzae until he can magically attract a sustainable population for all of that empty space he’s just conquered. Given the number of people in Melzae that will want to push back in, the military will almost certainly be fully engaged, even without shots fired.”

Psychiko frowned. “I suppose we ought to prepare the militia for the risk of independent action?”

Ymittos shrugged. “Don’t waste resources, son,” he said shortly, before taking a bite of venison. Psychiko grimaced at the rebuke, but before he could find a suitable response, the vasilefs swallowed and cleared his throat. “Kalymnos isn’t at risk from any neighbor in a military sense, or at least, not at any risk we’re not capable of meeting as it is. I’m not concerned about fighting any battles unsupported.” Another gulp of wine was followed by, “Rather than look for the danger, look for the opportunity.”

The vasilefs’s son sighed and took a bite from his platter. After a period of thought, Psychiko said, “If the military is busy elsewhere, it can’t interfere with our business. But what business do we have that the Megaron would nose into?”

“It’s not necessarily the business we have as much as it’s the possibility of further business in the future,” Ymittos answered. “You must never overlook just how much the Megaron dominates our lives, Psychiko. Kalymnos is almost entirely dependent on the Peloponnese to survive; compared to tribes like Lakonia, we’re essentially beholden to the Megaron. That’s due entirely to the anax’s… ‘creative’ interpretation of the Kerkyra Compact, and enforced by his military alone.”

Psychiko’s expression cleared as he came to a reasonable conclusion. “So do you have a plan to break free from that influence?”

“Not at the moment,” Ymittos admitted grudgingly, taking another sip of wine. “But I do plan to reach out to our nearest neighbors and learn the lay of the land. I intend to focus on economics for the moment; breaking into additional markets will be absolutely necessary if we find ourselves at odds with the Peloponnese and run the risk of embargo. And the benefits of additional business in peacetime will hopefully stand Kalymnos in good stead when dealing with its Achaian rivals, especially Ikaria—assuming that Kypseli doesn’t try something similar.”

Psychiko scowled at that. With the Peloponnese enforcing its right to handle all trade between the Achaians and the international market, both Kalymnos and Ikaria sold goods to the same Peloponnesian buyers, and the two neighboring tribes had quickly developed an unhealthy rivalry as they competed for business. Given that the two tribes had both been modernized at the same time by the same foreign influences, and that they produced very similar (and often identical) products, the competition between them would almost certainly have devolved into violence long ago without the Megaron’s warnings of military interference.

That threat, of course, was no longer as valid as it had been previously, at least in the short term. Psychiko scowled at the food on his platter for a moment before he said, “What if Kypseli decides on direct action against us?”

“Then we’ll go to war,” Ymittos replied dismissively. “We’re already as prepared for that eventuality as possible. Nothing more can be done without crippling our economy.” Psychiko nodded, but caught himself after a second or two with a thoughtful expression, and opened his mouth. “Don’t even suggest it,” Ymittos cut him off. “Starting a war now will make it impossible to negotiate for economic advantages outside of Achaian markets. And without having those advantages, we have guarantee of success.”

Psychiko looked back down at his food, again embarrassed. He raised his eyes when the sound of a scoff reached him, though. “Do you have something to say, Omonoia?”

The other person at the table looked up from her platter, wide-eyed. “Of course not, sir,” she said innocently.

Psychiko snorted, but didn’t pursue it. Ymittos, however, glared at the young woman for a little longer. “Don’t imagine that you’re too smart to listen to our authority,” he growled. “Your brothers and sisters had ambitions, too, and plots to go with them. I had them all sent away in the end. If you have any intelligence, you’ll remember that being my daughter is not enough to let you escape the authority of your vasilefs and his heir.” Ymittos leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “Do not test me on this, Omonoia.”

The woman nodded, eyes downcast. “Of course, Father.”

“Good to hear.” Ymittos returned his attention to his plate, and Omonoia released her held breath and reached for her goblet of wine. Even as her words oozed subservience, though, Omonoia’s thoughts were outright rebellious. From the moment that Ymittos had decided to endorse Psychiko as his heir, all of Psychiko’s siblings had fallen under the threat of banishment. One after another, Ymittos’s daughters were married off, his sons were sent to the militia or to foreign schools, and those who resisted Ymittos’s decisions in this regard were imprisoned. Psychiko himself was provided with the best tutelage Ymittos could manage, as well as his father’s personal attention and advice, in the hopes that he would prove to be the best vasilefs Kalymnos or any other Achaian tribe had ever had.

It was not that Psychiko was unequal to the task, although compared to his father he still had plenty to learn. It was that most of Psychiko’s siblings had been equally gifted, if not more so, and all of them had chafed under their father’s efforts to prevent familial infighting by clearing the way for his son’s succession himself. Those who spoke up were the first to be exiled; those who plotted in response were the first to be imprisoned. Omonoia had been too young to understand when her siblings first began to be sent away, and her youth had allowed her to avoid attracting her father’s ire. As she grew, however, and learned what was happening around her, Omonoia made a conscious effort to clamp down on her teenaged tendency to rebel in order to appear as nonthreatening as possible. That decision had ensured that Omonoia had escaped her father’s vigilance for many years, but now that protection was almost entirely exhausted. Ymittos had sent his youngest son off to Thesprotia for school the previous week; only Omonoia threatened Psychiko’s inheritance now.

Omonoia knew that staying in the vasilefs’s palace would be impossible at this point. Having resigned herself to her departure, however, the young woman was not content to wait for her father’s pronouncement before setting off. She had no interest in being married off; her schooling was already done; and the Kalymnian militia’s chronic inactivity made it a useless career for an ambitious political mind. And now there were Ymittos’s vague international musings to consider, whose unformed future plans might well include using a spare child as a bargaining chip. Of the few futures Omonoia could think of under her father’s rule, this new and unexpected option was perhaps the most frightening to her, if only because its conclusion was entirely unknown even to Ymittos himself. If Omonoia was allotted to the role of political leverage, her fate would be determined by the ever-changing course of international enmity and good will. That future was impossible to accurately predict, and Omonoia refused to even contemplate it.

So as Ymittos and Psychiko began to debate over ideas for international diplomacy and economic restructuring, Omonoia turned her attention instead to her father’s other piece of news from Kerkyra. New Peloponnese was empty; it would be defended by Peloponnesian soldiers indefinitely; Kerameikos was all but begging for new settlers. All in all, it struck Omonoia as a chaotic and dangerous situation… and where there was chaos, there would always be opportunity for the ambitious and the talented.

Omonoia considered herself to be plenty of both.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

General Klytaimnistra stepped off of the helicopter that had borne her to this remote stretch of wilderness in a fine fury. Only three hours before, she had been standing on the deck of the troop transport Anafiotika’s Pride, awaiting her takeoff clearance and happily envisaging her arrival in the midst of military ditches and refugee tents. Of course the message from the Megaron had arrived just before she could make that vision a reality; now the sight of health workers (Akarnanian and Makarian) only added to the general’s anger as she strode through the largest camp, designated Alfa Prime, and grabbed the arm of a junior officer racing to intercept her. “Where is the commander here?” she demanded.

“Commander Diomidis is observing supplies distribution in Section Three,” the officer replied despite his surprise at the general’s tone. “May I escort—”

“Keep up,” Klytaimnistra snapped, already moving.

Two minutes later, the satisfied smile on the Akarnanian commander’s face died a swift and painful death when General Klytaimnistra pushed through the lines of soldiers collecting boxes from the large tent acting as a depot and speared him with a look that expressed her extreme displeasure. “We have a situation with the Zambiwans,” she said.

Diomidis managed not to groan. Literally everything he had heard so far about the Zambiwans had been ‘a situation,’ not even including the complete mess the Lakonians had added to the pile. “What is it now?” he grumbled.

“The Office of Observation and Communication has received media reports from Zambiwa claiming that the government there received a message from the rebel Islamists proclaiming an Islamic State,” Klytaimnistra elaborated. “In addition to the entire expanse of wilderness between Zambiwa and the Achaian homelands, the Islamists have apparently declared portions of Lakonia to be their territory.”

“Damn.” This was obviously an understatement. Commander Diomidis had no doubts that his forces, to say nothing of Lakonia’s or the Megaron’s, would be able to obliterate an insurgent threat, but the timing could not have been worse. Achaian tactics did tend to be blunt, after all, and aimed to erase a threat to the Achaian people regardless of the cost to anyone else. With international attention already focusing on the last Achaian-Zambiwan ‘interaction,’ the very last thing any Achaian involved in this project wanted to deal with was a threat to Achaian security from Zambiwan nationals at the very time that the Megaron and Vasilefs Peiraias had invited such nationals into their territories.

General Klytaimnistra nodded, having had a more explosive reaction to the same thought process already. “The headlines, of course, will be legendary: ‘Achaians Betray Zambiwan Trust; Hundreds Slain!’ Allowing even a single Zambiwan into our territory now will open us up to terrorism, and the moment it happens, we will have to respond in the usual fashion.”

“It will devastate our international reputation, that’s for certain,” Commander Diomidis murmured. He frowned heavily. “But so will turning the Zambiwans away after making this offer.”

The Makarian general scoffed. “I’m much less worried about Zambiwa’s opinion of us if we turn refugees away than I am about Gilead’s or Zaliviya’s opinion if we blow invited guests into a million pieces. As far as the Megaron is concerned, your presence here achieves our primary objective anyway. At this point we can simply reorganize these camps for purely military purposes, and defend our new borders from any infiltrators, Zambiwan or otherwise.” Klytaimnistra glared around the tent, as though she could see the untamed wilderness surrounding her. “These are Achaian lands. If the Lakonians were right about anything, they were right about that: No one else can be permitted to take this land from us.”

Diomidis winced. Obviously the Megaron was extremely upset at this turn of events to be treating the opinion of the most problematic Achaians with any seriousness. More to the point, the Megaron was apparently willing to open itself up to the same risks that the Lakonians had assumed by treating this territory as a target range: The rest of the world would not simply turn a blind eye. With Zambiwa already telling anyone who would listen that the Achaians were a menace that needed to be put down, or so it seemed based on the response from Zaliviya’s foreign ministry, the Achaians needed now more than ever to present their best face to the world. There had to be some compromise, the commander was certain of it.

“No,” he said after a long moment’s thought. “We don’t need to simply turn them away.”

Klytaimnistra glared. “I just told you that we’re facing an insurgency! Any one of those so-called refugees poses a risk to Achaian security. I will not—”

“With all due respect, General, this is not Peloponnesian territory,” Commander Diomidis interrupted. “My vasilefs fully intends to establish friendly, or at least respectful, relations with the government of Zambiwa. We cannot afford to turn our backs on this situation after having already involved ourselves in it.”

With all due respect,” the Makarian snarled, “the right to establish relations with any foreign nation is reserved to the anax alone. Vasilefs Peiraias has no business developing a relationship, friendly or otherwise, with anyone outside of the Achaian homelands.”

“So that the anax can tell Zambiwa that any problems are the vasilefs’s fault?” snapped Diomidis. “I think not. Regardless of who tells Zambiwa what, this territory is Akarnanian, even according to the anax and the Achaian Council. What we do here is determined by the vasilefs, and in his absence by me. And until Vasilefs Peiraias declares the risk to be too great to bear, we will accept whatever refugees appear here.” The commander sighed at Klytaimnistra’s outraged staring. “I’m not trying to cause trouble for you or for the Megaron, General. Just like you, I’ve been looking forward to this operation since being assigned to it. I see the good we can do. To hear that our efforts are being sabotaged like this is infuriating to me.” The commander clenched his fists. “For that reason alone, I believe we should find another way to respond.”

General Klytaimnistra continued to glare for a long moment. Eventually, though, she asked through gritted teeth, “What do you suggest, Commander?”

* * *

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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

The string quartet in the corner of the hall was largely ignored, but given the company it had been assembled to play for, there was no question of stopping. As the servants wandered with platters and drinks, the wives and daughters of Lakonia’s notables mingled and gossiped. Their husbands and fathers—and in rarer cases, their wives and mothers—sat at the table that had been set up on a dais along the long interior wall, facing the windows that looked out into the gardens and let in a greenhouse’s worth of light. Mixed in with the platters and pitchers that littered the table were diagrams and maps, reports and lists, and spare paper and pens to take down notes or, in the case of the woman seated at the center of the long table, write down orders to be sure that they would not be forgotten.

“Camp Thirty?” Vasilissa Exarcheia asked, looking down the table to her left.

“It’s as prepared as we can make it,” Commander Idomenefs replied, “much like the rest.” He nodded to the other commanders and non-militia nobles gathered at the table, most of whom had already given their reports. “We have no shortage of labor for the foreseeable future, my lady. As always, our worries focus on maintaining the current population levels over succeeding generations. In the past, we have been able to introduce new blood into the labor pool through raids, but now that the wilderness is closed to us, we will have to manage our existing stock in order to avoid inbreeding for as long as possible.”

Exarcheia scowled. Camp Thirty was Lakonia’s smallest labor camp, and its labor pool was largely made up of slaves that were nearing uselessness. That was fine for the camp itself, given that it was attached to a militia barracks and the men were expected to share in at least some of the labor as part of their training. But without additional sources of new blood, the camp’s population would almost certainly die off well before that of the rest, and even the militia did not expect to put the men to work full-time in place of lost slaves.

Commander Idomenefs had more to worry about in that regard than the other camp commanders, but the other camps were in equal danger of depopulation through mismanagement. Simply due to his own experience—and Idomenefs was possibly Exarcheia’s most experienced labor camp commander—he could already guess that most of those commanders giving reports prior to him, especially those who had claimed to have no worries about the future, were either lying or ignorant about the problems faced by their commands.

Exarcheia must have thought so, too, given that she chose not to castigate him in front of the rest of her commanders despite his report being far more critical than those that had come before. Instead she limited herself to pertinent questions. “Do you believe that dangerous inbreeding can be avoided indefinitely?”

“No, my lady,” Idomenefs admitted. “We can mitigate the dangers for a while, but our labor population is heavily weighted toward males.” Females were more often used in domestic environments, and were rarely exhausted to the point that they needed to be moved into semi-retirement. “It will be impossible to avoid close inbreeding within three or four generations if I depend entirely on my current stock.”

The vasilissa nodded with a sigh. “Then I will order some transfers from other camps to increase the viability of your stock. Don’t argue,” she snapped, turning her attention to several other camp commanders who had begun to grumble. “Whatever plans you’ve made can be redrawn. You should be competent enough to succeed regardless of this… sacrifice.”

Exarcheia looked around the table to gauge the reactions of the rest of her commanders. Apparently satisfied, the vasilissa’s scowl eased as she helped herself to a goblet of wine. “At this point, we have two priorities. Firstly, we must maintain, and hopefully increase, the labor population in absolute terms. This should be a short-term process; nonetheless, even now we must recognize and plan to prevent the likelihood of inbreeding in the labor pool. That is the second priority.” The vasilissa looked around the table again. “This means that I expect every female laborer to be pregnant as soon and as often as possible. Keep them confined to the camps or the household and quit assigning them tasks that might interfere with pregnancy. Keep a record of their visitors and make sure that they aren’t producing children ill-suited to continue the population.”

Commander Iraklis, sitting to Exarcheia’s right, cleared his throat. “My lady, I’m sure you know that we use the girls in the camps as rewards for good behavior. We can’t maintain discipline without some kind of reward, and if we start handing out the girls for no reason—”

“I’m sure you could,” the vasilissa interrupted. “Nonetheless, I’m not asking you to change your disciplinary policies. It doesn’t always take a slave to make a father.” The commanders’ eyes all bulged at once, and Exarcheia in annoyance. “We can’t afford to be picky. Moreover, the more new blood in the labor pool, the better.”

“Even if it’s Achaian?” demanded Iraklis in disbelief.

Exarcheia scoffed. “Unless you mean to enslave your heirs, no amount of Achaian blood in a foreign woman will make an Achaian child. Don’t worry about that when you should be worrying about the possible end of our way of life.”

Idomenefs glanced around the hall. “How soon do you plan to implement this policy?” he asked a little too innocently.

“See one you like?” the vasilissa countered knowingly. The commander chose not to respond, though he held Exarcheia’s gaze regardless; she was impressed. “Take her and have fun,” she said after a moment’s thought. “I’m finished with you. All of you,” she added, waving off the rest of the commanders. “Take all the time you need tonight. We will reconvene tomorrow morning to consider our militia’s new direction, so be sure to get… some rest, I suppose.” Exarcheia grinned.

The commanders stared at the vasilissa for a long moment. Then Idomenefs rose and bowed his head. “As you command, my lady,” he said, somewhat playfully. The other commanders—or at least the men among them—quickly stumbled to their feet and followed suit, as Idomenefs strode away toward a nearby serving girl and demanded her immediate attendance. Exarcheia shook her head at their eagerness, especially as it attracted the outraged attention of their wives and daughters, and she nearly laughed at the bright blush on the face of one younger female attendee as she watched her father march off with the cringing violinist from the now-incomplete string quartet. The intrigued expression on her face and the inquisitive glance she threw at the nearby son of one of the other commanders only made it more difficult for Exarcheia to keep her composure.

The unimpressed women were not confined to the hall’s mingling gossips, however. Exarcheia turned to the few women whose rank in the militia or from birth had afforded them a seat at the vasilissa’s table and took in their barely-restrained glares. “Necessity is a harsh mistress,” she said simply. “Although I’m sure you could remind your men just what other harsh mistresses they should fear before they make any hasty decisions…” The glares lessened, but only slightly.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Her father was no doubt furious.

Omonoia smiled at that thought as she took her first steps on Nusantaran soil. The private ‘yacht’ behind her had been more than adequate for her needs, having left the Peloponnese only the previous afternoon; surely it would have been faster to fly, but both the state of New Peloponnese’s civilian airports and the heavily-guarded nature of New Peloponnesian airspace meant that chartering any plane to New Peloponnese was a difficult and dangerous prospect. Most civilian traffic was therefore restricted to the well-guarded ports of the new territory, and even then no traffic was permitted that didn’t originate in the Peloponnese. Thankfully it was not so difficult to enter the Peloponnese proper, so long as one could prove to be Achaian and be willing to profess devotion to Makaria and her cult upon entry; it was considerably more difficult for non-Achaians, assuming they weren’t diplomats or merchants, and such foreign immigrants had always been confined to their own communities—all of which had recently been emptied into New Peloponnese as well.

This confusing mix of foreign influences had combined with the newness of the settlers’ surroundings and the pervading nervousness of the late war (and the possibility of another in the near future if Melzae couldn’t be kept in check diplomatically) in order to create a chaotic and ever-changing social and economic structure in New Peloponnese. Having spoken at length to Gerasimos, the owner of the yacht that had brought her to New Peloponnese, Omonoia felt only somewhat prepared for the challenge of establishing herself in this new territory, but she also knew that she could not waste time. The situation would only continue to shift for so long before daily life forced it to slow down and solidify. Omonoia needed to be well established in New Peloponnesian social and political life when that time came, in order to make it much more difficult to unseat her, and much less difficult for her to climb higher if necessary.

The vasilefs’s wayward daughter had a great advantage that the rest of New Peloponnese’s new population generally lacked, however: money. She had lots of money, in fact, both in cash and in kind; the latter came mainly from movables that she had stripped from the palace in Kalymnos prior to her escape, while the former included the entire balance of her modest bank accounts and the proceeds from the sale of some of those aforementioned movables, which had gone to auction in the Peloponnese. Knowing how angry her father would be upon discovering the missing valuables, Omonoia had only begun taking them from the palace the evening of her departure, well after her father and brother had gone to bed. By the time they had woken up the next morning, Omonoia had already reached the Peloponnese and inducted herself into the Cult of Makaria. From there, it was a simple matter of finding transportation to New Peloponnese, and a patron once there. In Gerasimos, a Peloponnesian lawyer and businessman whose interests had also turned to exploiting New Peloponnese, Omonoia had found the perfect short-term partner: a few sherds, and he had happily signed her on as an investor in his new scrapping and construction ventures, bringing her over to New Peloponnese personally in order to display his business prospects. Given what Omonoia could tell from Marlum’s docks, she would be forgiven for thinking that there might have been more bluster to Gerasimos’s plans than there was substance.

The problem was not a lack of work, by any stretch. Marlum was now largely uninhabited, with only a few neighborhoods populated in a city that had been built for millions. According to Gerasimos, the military and the Megaron had taken direct control of certain downtown structures, especially those most related to the city’s infrastructure, in order to rebuild what pieces of the city were necessary for its long-term survival; the rest of the urban space, however, was nothing but wasted construction material. Almost all of the cars that had been left on the streets by fleeing or imprisoned Melzaeans would have to be scrapped, though there were a few special models that had been impressive enough to confiscate for the use of government officials and military officers. Certainly it would be a shame to see the city shrink, but it was much better than waiting for crumbling buildings to simply decay and collapse, adding to the pollution already endemic in this area due to the former population and the Melzaean government’s inability to cope with it. Omonoia agreed that demolition work was almost as urgent as the repair work being done on the city’s vital services in order for Achaians to survive in Marlum for the long term.

The real problem was manpower, however. There were simply too few Achaians—Makarians, anyway—in New Peloponnese. While there were other options for labor, at least according to the news of Melzaean slave camps that Vasilefs Ymittos had brought back to Kalymnos, it would defeat the purpose of hiding them if they were to be brought to work in such a public place as the only urban center in New Peloponnese. Omonoia could only assume that the Melzaeans were being held by the military for farming purposes, as a means of providing for the urban population that was clearly unable to feed itself unless or until it developed a working trading economy. The creation of such an economy, as Omonoia had already noted, would almost certainly require the presence of more people than had already settled; there were too many tasks to do, and too few hands to do them. As with the New Peloponnesian population as a whole, so with Gerasimos’s plans for his own ventures: He could only hope to profit, the vasilefs’s daughter thought, if he was able to acquire more workers to do the work that needed to be done.

Omonoia didn’t really care how far the man’s company progressed, of course, but making a good return on her investment would only help her in the future, if only by proving that she knew what she was doing to anyone she might later need to impress. She had plenty of plans to invest in whatever other companies were being tentatively set up in this newly-conquered land. No amount of plans would matter, of course, without additional migrants to fill the positions that were needed… but Omonoia had to hope that the promise of work for good pay, which her funds could provide, would at least attract enough people to bolster this place’s undeveloped economy. With any luck, Omonoia would find herself one of the more important employers of New Peloponnese, a distinction that would certainly improve her odds of accomplishing anything worthwhile before the chaos began to die down.

Omonoia frowned as she took in the empty skyscrapers in front of her and the sound of the waves lapping up to the wharf behind her. It all came down to bringing more people in. And it would take a lot more than the money she had nicked from Kalymnos to fund it all.
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Antipatros looked around the entrance hall of the Megaron in appreciation, mainly at its understated projection of central authority; given the ostentatious displays of wealth and power that he was used to in Lakonia, the commander was happy to experience a different variety of command. Nonetheless, as he was escorted by the Cult Regiment through the reception hall deeper into the center of Peloponnesian authority, the man had to admit to himself that he was not entirely comfortable being here. This was the first time that he, representing his vasilissa, had been asked to offer more than a token submission to the power of the anax. Prior to this, Exarcheia had been more capable of resisting any unsavory demands made of her by the anax through the availability of additional labor to make up for whatever losses might come of the shortages imposed by an unimpressed Peloponnesian embargo. Now that Kerameikos had asked the Akarnanians to separate Lakonia from that source of additional blood, however, his approval was vital for the continued survival of Lakonia as a tribe and as a state. To her credit, the vasilissa had recognized the danger as soon as the anax’s instructions had been given, and she had been quick to try to find some advantage in the new scenario. Any advantage that she could see depended on the Megaron’s good will, however, especially as the Megaron still held the reigns of any trade that would allow Lakonia’s agricultural society to still field technology enough to compete with a modern state (in economics as well as the martial sphere). Having made what preparations she and her people could make on their own, then, Vasilissa Exarcheia had accepted the need, and sent Commander Antipatros to Kerkyra for talks on her behalf that would hopefully ensure that Lakonia remained profitable and secure.

The Cult Regiment guard stopped in front of a door proclaiming itself to be the Office of Military Affairs, and knocked. “Come!” came the order from within; the guard immediately opened the door, before stepping aside and allowing Commander Antipatros to enter. The commander nodded to the guard before stepping across the threshold, with the guard shutting the door again behind him.

In front him stood Logothetis Enyalios, the man in charge of the Peloponnesian, and therefore the Achaian, military. Enyalios’s office, like the rest of the Megaron so far, was understated, though Antipatros guessed that at least some of that understatement was meant to avoid showing up the office of the anax elsewhere in the building. The logothetis watched his visitor look around in appreciation as he waved the other man to a seat on the other side of his desk. “Not precisely what you’re used to, Commander?”

“Not precisely,” Antipatros confirmed, taking the seat he had been offered. “Your office is certainly tasteful, Logothetis.”

“My predecessors did what they could,” the man said with a shrug. “Their anakes added their own touches as well, for that matter.” Clearing his desk of any important paperwork, both for politeness’s sake as well as to prevent the commander from reading it, the logothetis leaned forward. “Now, you were extremely insistent on this meeting, Commander. What can I do for you?”

Antipatros’s expression turned grimmer as he settled into this negotiation. “My vasilissa is concerned by the actions of the Megaron in recent days,” he said plainly. “Specifically, the vasilissa is concerned with the anax’s command for Peloponnesian troops and Akarnanian militiamen to occupy the wilderness territories south of the Achaian homelands. My vasilissa is frustrated that the anax has not taken into account the economic and social disruption that his… ‘suggestion’ to Vasilefs Peiraias might cause to Lakonia.”

Enyalios frowned slightly. “I am certain,” he said, “that Anax Kerameikos has considered every aspect of his instructions. He does not lead through ignorance.” The logothetis gazed at the commander for a moment before adding, “If any unfortunate effects have stemmed from the anax’s instructions, I am certain that the anax was aware of them prior to making them, and had already decided that the benefits outweighed the cost.” As the vasilissa already knew, though the anax’s servant chose not to point that out.

The commander sighed and nodded. Vasilissa Exarcheia had already anticipated that he would get nowhere by suggesting that Kerameikos had made a mistake; nonetheless, there was no harm in trying. “So long as the anax understands the difficulties he has brought upon Lakonia,” Antipatros said, “then my vasilissa will accept his decision.” He took a breath. “Vasilissa Exarcheia acknowledges and accepts the power of the Peloponnese over the tribe of Lakonia in all those ways guaranteed by the Kerkyra Compact. And the vasilissa furthermore accepts the judgment of the Achaian Council in all things, as the Compact dictates. The tribe of Lakonia acknowledges the sway of the anax and his Peloponnese in providing for its needs.”

“I’m certain the anax will appreciate the vasilissa’s words,” Logothetis Enyalios replied. “But I’m sure she had better uses of your time than to send you to Kerkyra to deliver that message, Commander.”

“Indeed.” Antipatros leaned back in his seat. “My vasilissa understands the anax’s concerns regarding the influx of refugees from the south, and the foreign danger that even now looks to snatch the territory of the Achaian people for itself. Given his options at the time, Vasilissa Exarcheia truly believes that the anax was right to ask Vasilefs Peiraias to send his militia into the wilderness, and create a space in which refugees could survive without fear. However, Logothetis, you would agree with me when I say that things changed very soon after that order was carried out, and not for the better.”

Enyalios frowned more noticeably. “You refer to the claims made by Zambiwa’s Islamists to Achaian territory.”

“To Lakonian territory, specifically,” corrected Antipatros. “My vasilissa was displeased to say the least, as I’m sure the anax was also. It was a bold statement, and it made the Achaian people an enemy of this ‘Haram Bo-Kay.’ My vasilissa understands that there was some conflict of opinion between the Megaron and Vasilefs Peiraias, and that the vasilefs’s vision won the day. Because of the vasilefs’s concerns, his militia and the Peloponnesian military now collect and, most importantly, constantly guard these newcomers from the south, fulfilling previous promises while still ensuring Achaian safety. We are all impressed and pleased by the efforts currently being undertaken in the south to prevent danger from coming to either ourselves or to our refugee guests. We are worried, though, about the mounting strain on the Peloponnesian military, and on the Akarnanian militia as well.”

The logothetis raised an eyebrow. “Between our two forces, I can assure you that we have the matter well in hand. Though I admit, I am uncertain just why our success or failure in this region should be a concern to your vasilissa…”

The commander shook his head. “The security of the wilderness is of grave concern to my vasilissa,” he said pointedly. “It is not such a great stretch to believe that any failure of Peloponnesian or Akarnanian security on our borders will directly lead to problems among our own Lakonians. Understandably, we do not want that.” Antipatros gazed at his host evenly. “Logothetis, the Peloponnese remains troubled by matters abroad as well as at home. This matter in Zambiwa is just one of the many problems currently fighting for the anax’s attention, and the military’s. The vasilissa knows as well as you do that the Peloponnesian military is not large enough to sustain occupations of two distant tracts of territory without sacrificing its efficiency elsewhere. It won’t be long before something else grabs the anax’s attention, and he will ask the military to step up to face it with him. What will happen to the security of our borders then?”

“The anax knows his priorities,” Enyalios said bluntly. “There is no more important duty for the Achaian military than to preserve the integrity of Achaian borders. Lakonia may be sure that nothing will prevent us from turning those borders into a solid wall of Achaian force.”

Commander Antipatros remained silent for a moment, but eventually he nodded his head in acquiescence. “I do not mean to disparage the Peloponnesian military,” he said. “My vasilissa is well aware of its capabilities.” He paused for effect. “Nonetheless… it is not merely a concern about the military’s performance in the field that prompts the vasilissa to make this inquiry. She is equally worried about logistical and financial matters that may make the maintenance of the Peloponnesian military in the southern wilderness untenable.”

“This office is not concerned,” the logothetis almost cut the commander off. “We are well aware of our available finances. There are more than enough sherds to maintain the military’s presence outside of our previous borders indefinitely.”

“That is in peacetime,” Antipatros replied. He would not back down on this matter as he had the others. “Logothetis, what happens when Haram Bo-Kay unleashes war against the camps and military bases that you have established in the south? What happens when the refugees come in a flood, and distract your men from their proper duty? What happens when you need more men in the first place, and your only supply of soldiers is away in far distant lands, or else garrisoning the Peloponnese itself?”

Enyalios glared. “This crisis will not last forever,” he said. “We can easily outlast it.”

“But you are not about to give up land that you have peppered with camps and towns,” Antipatros countered. “This crisis will not last forever, true, but Achaian rule over that land is meant to do just that. Can Akarnania hold such a vast stretch of territory on its own? Can the Peloponnese?”

The logothetis continued glaring for another moment. “Where are you going with this, Commander?”

Antipatros settled back into his seat, pleased that he would at least be heard. “My vasilissa, as I have already mentioned, is distraught over the loss of our access to the wilderness territory that we have patrolled for generations. Almost every Lakonian occupation, in one way or another, revolves around that access, either in defending ourselves against it or acquiring our labor from it. Without it, we are at a loss. But by acting to deprive us of it, Akarnania and the Peloponnese have made themselves almost as vulnerable, at a time when we can least afford vulnerability. Thus, my vasilissa suggests a… trade, of sorts. Lakonia will take the southern reaches of the new buffer territory, those that Akarnania cannot reach without struggle; and in return, Vasilissa Exarcheia will ensure the safety of all Achaian territories from the threat of Haram Bo-Kay, and will enforce the Megaron’s dictates in those border regions it now occupies.”

Enyalios blinked in surprise. “I admit,” he said, “I didn’t think you’d actually come out and say it.”

“I don’t believe there are other means of making a request such as this.”

The logothetis nodded. “Just so. I will be open with you as well, Commander: The anax moved Akarnanian forces into the wilderness to purposely separate Lakonia from its sources of labor and punish your vasilissa for her mismanagement. You are now asking that we not only return to Lakonia the access that it previously lost, but also give Lakonia even more than it had had before, while entrusting it to perform duties that were previously cause to bring the Achaian people to the brink of war due to Lakonia’s own actions. I know you realize already just how ridiculous that sounds; I can tell you that it won’t sound any better in the anax’s ears, either.”

Antipatros clenched his fists in his lap, but kept his frustration out of his voice. “The anax’s actions have indeed punished Lakonia,” he said. “My vasilissa has heard the anax’s message—loudly, in fact. As I have already said, the vasilissa has agreed to accede to the Megaron’s will, not only in the border regions but in all other matters as well, so long as we Lakonians are free to live as we have done for centuries. There is little more that the anax could want from us that we are not already prepared to give him at this point.”

The logothetis shook his head. “There is more to this matter than Lakonia alone,” he reminded the commander. “The anax acted not only to punish your vasilissa. He also meant to assure the world that a repeat of the… unfortunate actions on Lakonia’s borders could not be repeated. You said yourself that Lakonia requires access to the wilderness for its ‘labor,’ yet you ask now to take over the running of territories that the Megaron has already advertised to be a safe haven for foreign refugees. The two ideas cannot be reconciled, nor will the world stand for it if we go back on our word for the sake of your vasilissa’s labor shortages.”

“Your word to nations who do not share Achaian interests cannot be more important than those interests themselves,” Antipatros argued. “Peloponnesian soldiers may hold that territory indefinitely, or they may leave when the danger is greatest in order to defend the Peloponnese from some other threat, but either way the Megaron will soon come to regret its stance on this matter. You know as well as I do that the position is untenable. The border region is a fully-encompassing military endeavor. The military cannot hope to multitask with it successfully for any length of time.”

“Do not presume to lecture me about the capabilities of my military, Commander.”

Antipatros fell silent immediately, worried that he had pressed too hard. Enyalios maintained his glare for a long moment, before getting to his feet and turning toward the window behind him. The gardens of the Megaron stretched out below the office window, with its chapel set in the exact center of the place, waiting for the men and women of government to feel the mounting pressure of their positions and seek the goddess’s comfort and assurances. The Lakonian commander wondered just how much the logothetis yearned to be in that chapel now, praying to Makaria to relieve him of the burdens his anax had caused to fall upon his office. “Your request is well beyond my authority,” Enyalios said finally, not bothering to turn around again. “I am only a servant of the anax; I cannot order that his instructions be overturned. I am in no position to command or even advise Vasilefs Peiraias, either. Nothing you say here will matter if it does not reach the ears of the anax as well.”

Based on the other man’s words, one might well imagine that Antipatros would be leaving the Megaron empty-handed. However, there was something in the logothetis’s tone that told the commander not to give up hope quite yet. “Will I be free to speak to the anax, then?”

“No,” Enyalios replied. There was a pause before he added, “Nonetheless, I will relay your concerns to him on your behalf.” He turned from the window to face Antipatros again. “You are not wholly off the mark when you say that I am concerned about the current situation. No matter that the anax has his reasons for ordering these things, the fact does remain that my office is stretched by his decisions. And… there is room to maneuver as time goes on.” The logothetis eyed the commander for a long moment. “I will relay your vasilissa’s words of obeisance to Anax Kerameikos, and will give him your understanding of the current situation. I can guarantee that he will reject the vasilissa’s proposal for as long as the current situation exists. Should the situation change, however—especially if the eyes of Noverra find other places to be—I believe that the anax might be more amenable to the vasilissa’s request.” The logothetis frowned, but the commander knew that it was not at him. “Much depends on Zambiwa now… and on Haram Bo-Kay.”

Enyalios thought for another moment, before turning his attention fully on Antipatros again. “I will tell the anax,” he repeated. “I hope your vasilissa will be satisfied with that.”

Commander Antipatros rose to his feet with a nod. “It is no less than she expected,” he replied. “I will be happy enough to bring her this news.”

Enyalios nodded in return. “Then I bid you good day, Commander.”
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

New Peloponnese was not meant to be settled. It was meant to be farmed.

After several weeks of organizing military patrols and labor gangs in the hopes of improving productivity, this was Strategos Kamatero’s only remaining conclusion. His father had given him command of the entire territory and made him the representative of the Megaron, but thus far Kamatero’s duties had rarely, if ever, strayed from touring the border between New Peloponnese and those lands still in Melzae’s hands (now almost desolated by the Achaians’ advance and the accompanying evacuation of that territory by its residents, who had no reason to return) and inspecting the camps where the secretly-retained Melzaean prisoners were housed and guarded when they were not laboring for the Achaians’ benefit. The military itself was in good hands already, despite General Aigisthos’s reassignment elsewhere; every officer appointed by the Office of Military Affairs could be counted on to know what he or she was doing, at least in the short term, and Kamatero’s time with the commanders in New Peloponnese was largely spent observing and confirming already-drafted orders. By far the majority of Kamatero’s authority was exercised in the matter of the Melzaean prisoners, who had to be organized and assigned to various tasks for the greatest benefit and profit of the military and the Megaron. It was a job that Kamatero felt he was at least reasonably suited for, and so far he had made no errors worth noting.

But it had quickly become clear to the strategos that the productivity of state-owned laborers, especially laborers that were meant to remain a secret from the world at large, could only benefit the state that owned them. The people of that state—especially those who couldn’t be trusted, such as almost everyone who had been shipped to New Peloponnese—benefited only peripherally, and even then only rarely. With the profits of New Peloponnese entering the coffers of the Megaron directly, the only means by which Achaians in New Peloponnese (or anywhere, for that matter) could benefit from them would be through the Megaron’s generosity, and Kamatero had neither the resources nor the orders from his father to show any largesse toward people that the Achaians at home still viewed as ‘false’ and ‘foreign’ Makarians. Within two weeks of his arrival in New Peloponnese, the strategos realized that he would have to select his priority as ruler of New Peloponnese; including the Achaians of New Peloponnese in any economic initiative, and attempting to draw in enough new settlers to make New Peloponnese self-sustaining, could only be done at the expense of those profits being siphoned to the Megaron. And after another two days of listening to nervous commanders explaining that the border between New Peloponnese and Melzae could not be adequately guarded without additional manpower, which could only come from new settlers given that the Megaron had sent the tribal levies home, Kamatero finally made his decision. He ordered his commanders to strip New Peloponnese of everything of value as quickly as possible, and to prepare for a quick withdrawal should the situation warrant it. “If Melzae attacks, we will have very little strength to hold this land,” he had said. “So if it comes to that, leave the place and its people behind. They’re not worth Achaian lives. For now, just milk what you can.”

If the settlers of New Peloponnese, largely congregated in the city of Marlum, had any opinion about the lack of official involvement in their lives, they didn’t make it known to the Megaron or its representative—though even if they’d tried, Kamatero admitted to himself that he likely wouldn’t have noticed. With the exception of agents from the Office of Internal Observation, officialdom had simply turned away from New Peloponnese’s newly-planted population in favor of its material riches, which were farmed, mined, or otherwise extracted as quickly as five hundred thousand unwilling backs and another fifteen thousand armed soldiers could manage. Given that the unwilling backs in question were entirely expendable as far as Kamatero and his men were concerned, the speed of the extraction correlated directly to the heavy losses among their number; Kamatero estimated that most of his workforce would be gone within ten years, assuming that New Peloponnese remained under Achaian control for all of that time. In the meantime, the so-called Achaians of New Peloponnese, those people who had come from abroad to worship Makaria or (more likely) to simply escape their circumstances at home, would live their lives mostly unmolested by the Megaron’s oversight or hindrance—something that the true Achaians of the Peloponnese could never hope to experience—all unknowing that, in return, they would sacrifice the security their former neighbors in the Peloponnese took for granted.

All of which meant that Kamatero felt quite strange to be stepping out of his vehicle (trailed as always by his personal guard, a unit made up of the Cult Regiment) in front of one of the few Melzaean office buildings in Marlum to have seen detailed repair work done in the days since the conclusion of the city’s encirclement, with a sign written in Achaian, Starlizan, Austianese, and Decapitan: “New Dorian Enterprises.” It was not enough just to drag the strategos away from his normal duties and bring him into the heart of Marlum, which he had been content to ignore; evidently these people wanted to make light of even the most solemn parts of Achaian history and tradition as well. Kamatero sneered as he passed by the sign and stepped through the door that one of his guards had come around to open, and wondered just what foreigner he would have to speak to in order to see the organization’s name changed.

Assuming that the organization was not simply erased by the strategos’s authority, of course. Given his current mood and the issues that had brought him here in the first place, Kamatero was still uncertain if he was willing to let these people have their way at all. He had managed to restrain his first impulse to shut the company down when he had first been informed about it, but his patience was dying as he realized just how much time and effort this company would cost the Megaron’s enforcers if allowed to continue existing; it would matter much less had this been a company based in the Peloponnese, but the Megaron’s authority in New Peloponnese rested almost entirely on the military, very little of which could be spared in such menial bookwork with Melzae staring New Peloponnese down. Still… there were benefits to private enterprise, Kamatero continued to tell himself. The Peloponnese’s economic standing was based on that fact. It was simply a question of whether or not New Peloponnese was meant to do the same, or was instead a mere tool for the Peloponnese’s benefit. That question would be answered today.

Stepping inside the lobby of the building, Kamatero looked around at the bland wallpaper and the cushioned chairs that were probably more elegant to look at than they were to sit in, facing a television airing a loop of advertisements featuring photographs of young men and women dressed in designer fashions and standing in the driveway of obviously-expensive mansions, combined with stock photographs of gemstones and mining equipment. The strategos gave himself half a second to wonder if all waiting rooms had to appear this cheesy before turning his attention to the pair of desks along the far wall, where two receptionists stared at him and his entourage in surprise. Keeping his expression blank, Kamatero walked up to them and glared. “I am here to speak with your employer. Immediately.”

The receptionists foundered for a moment, clearly out of their depth. The woman on the left finally gathered herself enough to say, “We can schedule an appointment—”

“I represent the Megaron in New Peloponnese,” interrupted Kamatero. “I am a strategos of the Achaian people. I will see your employer now. Where will I find her?”

His impatience only added to the receptionists’ nervousness, and while he had fully intended to intimidate these people as much and as often as possible, he found that these particular individuals’ inability to work under pressure only annoyed him more. Thankfully for everyone involved, however, those behind the scenes were apparently more competent. A door leading out of the reception room opened to Kamatero’s left, drawing the strategos’s attention as two women and three men stepped into the room. The leader, a younger woman in business attire, looked at the group coolly. “You’re looking for me, Strategos,” she said simply. “I am Omonoia. Is there anything in particular you wish to discuss?”

Kamatero evaluated the newcomers as they did the same to him and his people. “Omonoia. You bear the name of a vasilissa. Do you share any relations to the vasileis?”

“That is my business, Strategos,” the woman replied. “Certainly you didn’t come here with your entourage and bully my employees just to ask a simple question like that.” She motioned through the still-open door behind her. “Shall we adjourn to someplace more private?”

Kamatero narrowed his eyes and nodded firmly. “Let’s go,” he said, falling into step behind the woman as she turned back to the door and waved her own followers on before her. The entire group made their way through the door and into a long and dimly-lit hallway—clearly this part of the building had been given less attention by the repairmen and decorators than the more public areas that had come before—which terminated in a staircase leading up. Omonoia led the entire group to the stairs, but pointed to a door to her right just before reaching them. “Will your people prefer to wait here in the lounge?” she asked.

“They will remain with me,” Kamatero answered firmly.

Omonoia scoffed. “I begin to wonder why we bothered outfitting the lounge in the first place,” she said offhandedly, turning back to the stairs.

The next floor up was somewhat more pleasant to look at, with an open space filled with light from a large window looking out over the sparsely-populated neighborhood, and behind that the sea. There were several doors leading to other rooms, and Omonoia led the group to the one on the far side of the space, which opened to reveal a conference room. There were no windows in this room, nor was there much in the way of decoration; it seemed entirely hard and utilitarian. Kamatero approved: Conference rooms were not places to relax and doze off, in his opinion. At least in his case, the discussion should remain interesting enough that there would have been no threat of that happening anyway.

“Have a seat,” Omonoia said carelessly, waving to the chairs surrounding the table as she walked around to the head and took her own seat. Kamatero followed close behind, and took the seat on her left; his group quickly filled that side of the table, while Omonoia’s followers took their seats opposite the military representatives on Omonoia’s right. The woman rested her elbows on the conference table and gave Kamatero a challenging glance. “The floor is yours, Strategos.”

The young man kept his annoyance as hidden as possible; Omonoia no doubt saw it anyway, given her apparent tendency to jibe, but Kamatero nonetheless attempted to remain professional. “Your company has been advertising internationally to draw in foreign settlement in New Peloponnese, using Melzaean gemstones as a lure. I’m here to learn the details of your operation.”

Omonoia raised an eyebrow. “Our advertisement gives all the details necessary, does it not?” she asked. “Our company deals in several different industries; in New Peloponnese, our specific focus is mining. As you might have noticed—or perhaps not, given the lack of Megaron-related oversight here—New Peloponnese is sparsely populated and has little in the way of a legitimate labor pool.” Kamatero frowned at the reference to New Peloponnese’s Melzaean prisoners, whose presence was still meant to be secret. “The economy won’t grow without people to fuel it, as I’m sure you already know, Strategos. I’m only doing my part to bring further investment and manpower into a territory that, as of right now, might as well be a desert.”

“So you expedite immigration into New Peloponnese—or at least claim to, though I will be sure to check whether or not you are in fact attempting to undermine the Megaron’s security measures, because if you are it will mean your arrest—and put these people to work… where?”

Omonoia scoffed. “Anywhere they’re needed,” she said. “They come for the jewels, of course, and we’re more than happy to put them to work in the mines, but the company has many different areas of focus. We began with construction and shipping, to be honest, but in Melzae there are so many other opportunities that we simply couldn’t pass them up—as long as we got the manpower to exploit them, of course.”

“So you have mines?”

“Of course!” The woman shook her head at the strategos’s apparent cluelessness. “How else could we hope to enter the gem trade without them?”

“That’s interesting,” Kamatero said, “because I don’t recall the Megaron handing out mining rights, or any titles to land containing any mines.”

Omonoia’s expression immediately hardened, as did those of her companions on the other side of the table. “New Peloponnese is an empty wasteland,” she snapped. “We took what land we required for our purposes. No one was present to protest, neither the ‘original owner’ or the Megaron itself. But the minute we conclude our initial investments and begin to turn something of a profit, you decide to shut us down? How convenient.”

“Exceptionally,” agreed Kamatero drily, “but that’s hardly the point, is it? The land out there isn’t just the wilderness you make it out to be. The Megaron is fully aware of the resources of New Peloponnese, and is currently making use of them. It is not your place, or anyone else’s, to take land and material from the Megaron for private enterprise.”

Omonoia sneered. “The Megaron profits while the rest of us starve, does it?”

“Considering that the Megaron has fully provided for the material needs of the settlers here free of charge, including food production, your hyperbole stretches into an outright falsehood.” Kamatero leaned back in his seat, finally feeling as though he were in control of this meeting. “The fact of the matter is that you are publicly claiming to have undermined the Megaron’s immigration policies for profit, you have acquired land without the necessary prior approval from the Megaron, and you have entered into business arrangements in foreign markets without the Megaron’s approval or oversight. And even now when you are confronted with your mistakes you show defiance instead of contrition. You mock authority at every turn, even in the very name of this company, and you nonetheless believe that the Megaron will ignore your audacity and give you your way.”

Omonoia sighed dramatically. “With a litany like that, you could probably persuade your lackey generals that I was a mass murderer to boot,” she scoffed. “But it comes to nothing in the end. How can you hope to profit from barren fields or empty mines? Your people are already working at capacity, yet all of this land sits empty, useless. What does it matter to you and your Megaron if someone else uses it in your absence?”

“What matters,” Kamatero said sharply, “is that you are proving both ignorant of and unconcerned with the law of the Megaron. You are flouting the authority of the anax. No amount of profit or loss will change that.” The strategos reached into his jacket pocket and produced a folded sheet of stationery. “And as such, I will happily deliver this warrant for your arrest, the confiscation of all your assets, and the dismantling of this company…”

“How dare you!” Omonoia leapt to her feet. Her associates, still sitting down, nonetheless tensed, and at least two of them began ‘subtly’ reaching for their own jacket pockets, only to find the hard glares of Kamatero’s guards fixed on them.

Sit down,” Kamatero growled intently. Despite her rage, the woman was at least clear-headed enough to realize that she couldn’t hope to fight the strategos, either legally or physically; visibly calming herself, the woman took two deep breaths and sank back into her seat. Her eyes were hard as the rested on Kamatero, but the strategos ignored the threat behind them for the moment. “I will happily ruin you,” he said, “for as long as you flout the rightful authority of your anax and his government. For all that you have done, you deserve little better. But,” he emphasized, “your arguments have at least some merit… as I knew long before I stepped into this building.” Kamatero produced a second sheet of stationery from a different pocket, which he unfolded and laid out on the table. “This contract was drawn up yesterday at my order. By signing it, you will save your company’s future, while bringing it in line with the Megaron’s regulations and security measures. It is a mutually-beneficial agreement. I am sure you’ll have few difficulties with it.”

Omonoia gingerly picked up the paper and began to read. Almost immediately, she dropped it again as if burned, and stared at the strategos for a long moment. “What do you know?” she asked lowly.

Kamatero glanced down at the paper on the table, where the first paragraph bound ‘Omonoia of Kalymnos, daughter of Ymittos the Vasilefs,’ to any number of expensive and frustrating restrictions regarding the control of her company and its access to capital, all essentially meant to cut New Dorian Enterprises’ self-assumed autonomy to nothing. The strategos assumed that she hadn’t even read past her name, however. “The Megaron has been purposely ignorant of the goings-on in much of New Peloponnese,” he replied, “but your mistake was to assume that this scenario was unchangeable. Your company, clearly Achaian, advertises publicly in foreign markets; did you seriously believe that the Megaron would not learn of it and choose to investigate this obvious breach of Achaian law?” Kamatero leaned forward. “You may be sure, Omonoia, that we know everything. The mines you’re exploiting… the ships you smuggle with… that extremely interesting militia you seem to have such high hopes for…” Omonoia whimpered slightly, but Kamatero pretended not to hear it. “The Megaron is not known for its stupidity, regardless of what your father might have told you. When things are brought to our attention, we make it our business to know what we need to in order to make an informed decision.” The strategos looked pointedly down at the contract on the table, and Omonoia took the hint and, again gingerly, picked the document back up again.

Kamatero amused himself by watching Omonoia’s expression shift from shock to frustration and sometimes to outright horror as she read through the contract’s stipulations, but to her credit, she refused to say another word in protest. It took her ten full minutes to work out exactly where she and her company stood in the eyes of the Megaron, and another five to gather the courage to speak again. But finally she said, “I am not sure that the company can afford this.”

“Given the Megaron’s generosity in providing you legal access to more than half of the mines that you’ve already staked out for yourself, I think your company can afford this and much more,” the strategos replied. “The company is only required to register those people who have already been smuggled into New Peloponnese under its banner, pay the fees associated with that registration, pay some fines that were purposely kept lenient despite the seriousness of the crimes they are meant to punish, and then pay the taxes associated with the profits you have already begun to bring in. All of this is exceptionally reasonable given the alternative.” The other folded sheet of paper briefly appeared in Kamatero’s hand once again. “When you also consider the fact that nothing in this contract prevents New Dorian Enterprises from continuing its international business as usual, I am fully confident that whatever losses these fines and fees represent to your budget in the short term will be wiped out within three years. You have no good reason to refuse this offer.”

Omonoia glared. “So I should be grateful to be back under the thumb of my ‘betters,’ should I?” she sneered.

Kamatero raised an eyebrow. “Is that what this is about?” he asked, motioning vaguely around. “Control?” He shrugged. “I’m not interested in what it means to you. I’m interested in your company obeying the law and respecting the authority of the Megaron. Do that much, and you’re free to do whatever else you like.”

Omonoia kept glaring for another moment, but Kamatero only responded by looking pointedly at his wristwatch. Finally her shoulders slumped. “Fine,” she snapped. “Georgios, give me a pen.”

Kamatero watched the woman sign the sheet in front of her with sharp, jerky lines that would make any calligraphist cringe. As soon as she finished, Omonoia shoved the paper away from her and turned her glare to the strategos again, but only long enough to see the slight smile on his face. She turned her attention back to the blank tabletop in front of her. “You win,” she snapped.

“This was no contest,” Kamatero replied, taking the contract and folding it up again. “You were too sure of yourself, and too quick to take advantage of an opportunity to realize just whose toes you were stepping on. You avoided alerting your father to your plans and assumed that the Megaron would be equally clueless, forgetting just how limited the vasileis truly are when compared to the anax of the Achaians. You considered the matter completed when in reality it was only half-done. I’m sure,” he added, “that you won’t make this mistake in your future endeavors.”

He stood, and his guards and entourage followed suit. Omonoia chose to remain seated, though Kamatero didn’t know if it was a token protest against him, or if the ramifications of her failure were still making themselves felt. “We’ve all learned a bit from this, I think,” he continued. “Given time, I’m sure that we can learn even more from one another. Perhaps we can even forge a true partnership, for the good of New Peloponnese.” The strategos nodded politely to his host, and did the same for her companions, who also remained sitting at the table, unsure of themselves and their employer. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future, but for now, I bid you good day.”

Leaving the conference room behind, Kamatero glanced out of the large windows of the anteroom before turning back toward the stairwell. The neighborhood outside was still rather empty, but everywhere there were small signs of recovery, reconstruction, and repopulation. Building supplies stacked outside of a storefront, new paint on an apartment building, and even a half-completed sidewalk might have made the neighborhood appear even more chaotic and uninhabitable than otherwise, but these things were enough to proclaim that people were coming to live in this part of Marlum again, where there was work to be had and money to be made, and a future to build. No matter what he might have said in that conference room, Kamatero could at least credit Omonoia with singlehandedly making New Peloponnese into a viable colonial project, and a potentially prosperous part of the Achaian economy.

“It looks like the Megaron will have to set up a few branch offices over here after all,” he muttered to himself. He wondered how his father would feel about that.
Edited by Mastropa, Apr 22 2015, 06:01 PM.
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Strategos Kamatero, dressed in the white robes of a presvyteros, looked out over the congregation before him in satisfaction. He had not been entirely certain how many of these so-called ‘Makarians’ would actually appear in the temple dedicated to Makaria; his mother’s scornful estimate had been something less than negligible, “at least until you make an example of someone.” But Kamatero had made it clear to the settlers of New Peloponnese that being an Achaian meant much more than simply living on Peloponnesian territory, and that he would not tolerate a supposedly-Makarian populace that refused to fulfill its responsibilities to its publicly-acknowledged goddess. The military under Kamatero’s command was out in force in Marlum to reinforce this message.

It had not been as easy to organize this event as Kamatero felt it should have been, however. The strategos had initially depended on the efforts of the Office of Religious and Spiritual Matters, whose approved architects and engineers had raised this admittedly-small temple to Makaria in record time. However, Kamatero’s appreciation of the office’s work came to an abrupt end when he met the presvyteros that the Megaron and the leadership of the Cult of Makaria had chosen to preside over New Peloponnese. Narrow-minded and bigoted, the man had shown his nature almost as soon as he had entered Kamatero’s headquarters overlooking Marlum, sneering at the Melzaean city and the “foreign-born heathens” who now called it home, compounding their religious folly with the perjury of claiming Makaria in public, only to deride her in favor of alien gods behind closed doors. Kamatero had pointedly reminded the presvyteros that the Cult of Makaria had been charged with dragging these people to the light, regardless of their current faults, but the presvyteros seemed absent of any tact in the matter, and the strategos eventually asked him to return to the Peloponnese rather than turn the population of New Peloponnese entirely against the Megaron.

Instead, Kamatero had taken it upon himself to serve the people of New Peloponnese as presvyteros. In this he was aided by the high priestess of Kerkyra—his mother, Kifisia—who had given her blessing to the project to satisfy Cult dictates. The Lady had been no happier about the quality of New Peloponnese’s current inhabitants than the presvyteros had been, of course, but she understood Kamatero’s intentions perhaps better than Kerameikos did. New Peloponnese was beginning, ever so slightly, to establish itself outside of the Megaron’s immediate reach, and continuing to treat it as expendable would only waste its potential. Kamatero was determined to prove that these people could be useful to the Megaron and the Achaians at home… perhaps even as useful as his great-grandfather, Anax Koukaki, had envisioned when he had called on the people of Noverra to adopt Makarianism and make their new home in the Peloponnese.

This was a start. Kamatero looked into the faces of the gathering in front of him, idly considering their family backgrounds and the motives that had led them or their parents to come to the Peloponnese and declare themselves Achaians, and wondering too if he would be capable of making that claim a reality, for them and for the Achaians still living in the Peloponnese. He took note of those whose expressions betrayed annoyance or defiance, or those who appeared to be bored. He smiled, though, when he saw at least a little interest in some of the faces in front of him, especially the youngsters looking up at the banners and shields hanging high in the rafters, embroidered with the names and deeds of the anakes, those who served the needs of their people and their goddess most obviously. Kamatero knew one day that his father’s name would be hung from the ceiling of every Makarian temple, and that it would be up to him to determine what deeds would be ascribed to his banner. The strategos would do his utmost to ensure that the capture of New Peloponnese would be remembered as one of Kerameikos’s successes.

Murmurs still filled the air, but Kamatero knew he had waited long enough; the people in front of him were not going to settle down to silence without some prompting on his part. Stepping forward on the dais at the head of the wide hall, he raised his arms and called out, “Achaians! Hear me, and hear the words of our goddess!” The vague attention he had already received sharpened as the crowd quieted down, turning away (sometimes grudgingly) from their mutual conversations in order to hear the interloper speak. “They are words that every Peloponnesian has heard from birth, and now too they come to you, who stepped onto this path by choice alone. You are new to Makaria’s worship, but perhaps you are the more blessed, for you come to her not out of habit, but out of your conscious desire to worship the defender of the Achaian people and the guarantor of our independence and survival.”

The strategos looked down at the altar in front of him, where implements of Makarian worship were laid out for his use. Giving a long look toward the image of Makaria releasing Vyronas from his shackles, Kamatero picked up a leather-bound book and raised it above his head. While the cover could not be seen by everyone in the hall, Kamatero’s assistants in this endeavor had shoved copies of this same volume into the hands of every attendee; they would be able to see the Shield of Makaria and the smaller banner of Vyronas for themselves just by looking at the copy already in their hands. “Remember: ‘I guard the way of freedom against your oppressors, both of the present and of the distant future, and so long as you obey Me and worship no other, the Shield of Makaria will forever guard your sleep and comfort your waking moments.’ Remember: ‘To the man who rises up against a life of servitude, to the man who offers a libation of his blood in defense of his neighbors and his kin, I give the name “Achaian.”’ Remember: ‘For as long as war threatens My people, let them be well versed in its dangers; and when war disappears from the world, let Me then lay down My Shield and proclaim My duties done forever more.’ Remember!”

Kamatero lowered the book to the altar before him again as he looked intently into the congregation before him. “Remember the accomplishments of your people. Remember their successes and their struggles, knowing always that Makaria stood by them, and stands by you now. Remember the lost, who fell in battlefields innumerable to raise our nation out of slavery!” The strategos motioned to the image of Makaria and Vyronas, large enough that even those in the back could see its details. “Makaria, others say, led them only to their deaths,” he continued grimly; “but their reward lies in the realms beyond, while here in Noverra we celebrate their victories in freedom, vouchsafed by the goddess and our predecessors’ libations of blood. Remember their struggles as you contemplate your own, striving to make do here in a new world, surrounded by your envious foes. Remember that, Achaians, for no less than the heroes of our past, your part in Achaian history will be remembered in turn!”

This was, perhaps understandably, met with more disbelief than inspiration among the audience; Kamatero saw at least one pair of rolling eyes, while scoffs could be heard echoing from the back. That would change, the strategos thought, once the Megaron’s resources and the Cult’s personnel could fully establish New Peloponnese’s education system. These people did not yet think like Achaians; they did not yet realize, in the context of Achaian history, just how out of the ordinary the establishment of New Peloponnese had been, nor did they understand just how important their contribution to that establishment would become. The few Achaians in the congregation, however, understood perfectly. Kamatero’s gaze fell on Omonoia, who stood at the back with a smirk. Was she already imagining her place in Achaian history books, perhaps as the woman responsible for New Peloponnese’s successful settlement? Perhaps she already imagined more for herself and her role in New Peloponnese.

The rest would learn, Kamatero thought to himself. By virtue of Omonoia’s actions in bringing so many people here, New Peloponnese had become a viable settlement, and the Megaron could not help but view it with a newfound importance. The difficulties of defending it, previously disregarded by an establishment that had no interest in actually attempting to do so, were now foremost on Kamatero’s mind and the minds of all his commanders in New Peloponnese. Without the settlers’ own contributions, it was almost certain that this foothold across the sea would fall back into Melzae’s hands. Perhaps when the day for fighting came again, and the people of New Peloponnese were thrown into the fires of battle—as they had escaped entirely during the Megaron’s operations to take the place on their behalf—the settlers would realize just what it meant to be an Achaian at war.

Those would be frightening days, Kamatero knew, but as his eyes fell again on the image of Makaria and Vyronas on the altar, he recognized that part of him longed for those days in which history would bring glory to the Achaians once again.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“Let it be recorded that the Achaian Council has convened in full. Take your seats.”

“And what for?” Anax Kerameikos had not even begun to relax before Vasilefs Monastiraki began to complain. The anax withheld a sigh as the vasilefs glared at him from across the table. “Is it the Megaron’s new policy to make sure we spend more time in Kerkyra than we do at home? Why bother to leave if you’re going to call us right back again the minute we get home?”

“Enough,” snapped Vasilefs Peiraias. “It is the anax’s prerogative to call for emergency sittings of the council, as we all should know by now.” Kerameikos couldn’t help but notice the number of unimpressed, if not outright irritated, glances thrown in Peiraias’s direction, but the vasilefs ignored them with the ease of long practice.

“If there is an emergency, why were we not informed before we arrived here in order to prepare for it?” demanded Vasilissa Kaisariani. “Any problem dangerous enough to require a full meeting of the council should be enough to keep us at home, where we can do the most good for our people. I have no intention of being trapped in Kerkyra while Serrians face unknown risks on the other side of the gulf!”

Kerameikos nearly groaned. “Of all the people in this room, Vasilissa, I would never have guessed that you would be the first to fall into hysterics,” he growled. Kaisariani’s eyes widened in anger, but the anax spoke before she could berate him. “I have called you all here to warn you of certain threats to the Achaian people—threats that, as of now, are not serious or even firm, but that may become so in the future if we are not prepared for them. They mostly involve stresses to the Achaian military that can only be alleviated through our mutual cooperation. I wish to have your full attention.”

Most of the vasileis continued to glare, especially now that they knew they were present only to help the Peloponnese fix one of its own problems, but at least they were fully engaged now. “The Achaian military is currently engaged in two separate occupations. The importance of the first, the occupation of New Peloponnese, increases by the day. I last told the council, I believe, that the population of New Peloponnese was insignificant compared to the threat posed to it by Melzae. That discrepancy, I am happy to report, is becoming less noticeable. Through the efforts of private individuals and my representative in New Peloponnese, we have seen an important increase in the size of the Achaian population—” The anax was interrupted by a snort from Exarcheia, who was unapologetic when he turned to glare at her. Deciding that it wasn’t worth the start of an off-topic argument, Kerameikos continued, “As I said, the population is increasing, and the economic viability of the place is increasing with it. The Megaron is confident that soon New Peloponnese will be able to contribute to its own defense in the very near future, and General Aigisthos has already begun to implement plans to ensure this eventuality. In the meantime, however, the larger population is still at risk from Melzaean aggression. The Office of Military Affairs has determined that the Achaian military will have to remain on site in New Peloponnese for at least another five years.”

“I certainly hope you are not demanding another levy, Anax,” Vasilefs Ymittos put in with a growl.

Kerameikos shook his head. “New Peloponnese requires no additional troops at this time,” he said. “I do not anticipate that I will need to call for a levy on behalf of New Peloponnese unless we are attacked outright by Melzae. I wish only to explain how the Achaian military is currently deployed.” The anax looked to Vasilefs Peiraias. “The military’s other current duty, of course, is to aid the Akarnanian militia in the new annexations to the southwest.”

Peiraias nodded. “The military has been a great help to my people there,” the vasilefs acknowledged. “We’ve seen a great deal of construction that would not have been possible without the additional manpower. And we are, of course, at no risk of attack thanks to the strength and number of our patrols.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Kerameikos said. “Nonetheless, this too represents a minor strain on the Achaian military machine. We employ twenty percent of the Peloponnese’s military strength to guard the occasional refugee and safeguard the new territories from any incursions by Haram Bo-Kay, in conjunction with Akarnanian forces. When combined with the forces currently guarding the borders of New Peloponnese, it is evident that the majority of the Achaian military is currently active in the field. This is all well and good while the Achaian people remain at peace.”

Vasilissa Kypseli perked up from her seat beside Exarcheia. “Do you have reason to believe that we will not have peace for much longer?” she demanded.

“The possibility always exists,” Kerameikos reminded her, “but the risk is greater now than it has been in years past. Melzae and Haram Bo-Kay are part of that risk. So too is Oeslan.”

Most of the vasileis glanced at one another in surprise, though Vasilissa Kaisariani nodded in understanding. “You fear that Oeslan’s colonial expansion will not be limited to South Gilead,” she said. “I feel the same. I have ordered my militia to increase their patrols of the nearby wilderness in order to prevent Serres from being targeted by this kind of action.”

Kerameikos nodded. “I appreciate your initiative, Vasilissa,” he said. Glancing over the rest of the council, he added, “I highly encourage those of you with territories separated from Oeslan’s viceroyalty by wilderness alone to follow Vasilissa Kaisariani’s example.” Vasilefs Monastiraki glowered, but the anax ignored him. “The Office of Observation and Communication is aware that Oeslan’s central government sent instructions to both of its overseas holdings, Texara and Cematza, to mass their troops on their borders and prepare for an aggressive expansion. We see the result of this expansion in South Gilead, and can expect much the same kind of work in Suran should our negotiations fail to bear fruit.”

“Negotiations?” asked Kaisariani sharply.

Kerameikos nodded. “Logothetis Diaktoros is currently meeting with members of the Cematzan and Oeslanish governments in order to diplomatically resolve this dispute. As you know, it is the policy of the Megaron to hinder foreign expansion into the neighborhood of southern Suran. Already the existing Victoriumite footholds here are an affront to Suranite dignity”—to say nothing of Achaian ambition, Kerameikos thought to himself—“and any expansion of those footholds must be prevented by every reasonable effort. With luck and Makaria’s blessing, we will come out of this crisis with an even stronger relationship with Oeslan that will serve the Achaian people well.”

“And without luck?” Exarcheia asked pointedly.

The anax sighed. “Guess,” he snapped.

There was a pause. Then Kerameikos said, “So we arrive at the purpose of this meeting. The threat of Oeslan is real—not necessarily to the territorial integrity of the Achaian homelands, but to the power and authority of the Achaian people. As I have already said, I encourage all of you who have lands bordering the western wilderness to increase your patrols accordingly. In the meantime, I am required by necessity to redeploy the Achaian military.” Kerameikos turned directly to Vasilefs Peiraias. “Can you hold Akarnania’s new annexation without Peloponnesian aid?” He already knew the answer.

Peiraias scowled. “Of course not,” he snapped. “My forces have other duties as well, you know. The militia has been stretched ever since this operation began; it has only been possible due to Peloponnesian involvement. If you withdraw the military from the new annexation, I will be forced to withdraw my own forces as well.” The vasilefs leaned forward. “It seems to me that your priorities need some tweaking, Anax. On the one hand, you stand to lose some prestige due to an Oeslanish advance in territory that doesn’t belong to any of us; on the other, though, you stand to lose territory actually claimed by the Achaian people. How can you even contemplate willingly giving up land and resources in this way?”

Kerameikos shook his head. “I’m not contemplating anything of the kind,” he argued. “Tribal militias will be capable of garrisoning the land we already occupy. If not yours…” The anax turned to Vasilissa Exarcheia, whose expression lit up as she realized that her earlier request to the Megaron was about to bear fruit. “I am willing, though only grudgingly, to see Lakonian occupation and utilization of these territories. Given the threat still posed by Haram Bo-Kay, I believe that the Lakonian militia will prove a useful bulwark against Islamist expansion and aggression against Achaian territories.”

Peiraias scowled, but the anax held up his hand before the vasilefs could express just how irritated he was. “Akarnania has invested a great deal of time, energy, and money into the construction of towns and bases in the new annexation,” Kerameikos said. “The Megaron will compensate you and your tribe for your services. Moreover, I emphasize that I’m asking you to withdraw only from those territories that your militia cannot defend and exploit on its own. Whatever territories you can maintain without Peloponnesian aid, I encourage you to keep them. It is only right that you and your tribe be rewarded as much as possible, despite the dangers we are currently facing.”

Peiraias’s scowl lessened, but only slightly. “And what of the refugees?” he demanded. “Will we trust Lakonia to see them to safety, given their last encounter with Lakonian militiamen?”

Kerameikos sighed. “You have seen the reports as well as I have, Vasilefs,” he reminded his colleague. “Refugees are few and far between. Haram Bo-Kay’s advance has ensured that the vast majority of the southern wilderness’s population now lives under the Islamists’ control. Most of those who chose not to side with the conquerors are either dead or imprisoned. I can only assume that those few who did escape were more likely to remember Lakonia’s treatment of their predecessors than they were to believe our policy shift. All in all, there have been too few refugees to make our efforts worthwhile. With that in mind, I am more than prepared to return jurisdiction of tribal borders in the region to you and to Vasilissa Exarcheia to do as you see fit. I will, of course, inform the international community of that fact before another unfortunate incident takes place,” Kerameikos added.

Peiraias continued to glare at the anax for a moment, but in the end he nodded grudgingly. “So be it,” he grumbled, turning away. “I look forward to that compensation you referred to earlier, Anax.”

“I’m sure you do.”

* * *

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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Heinrich Amsel glowered over his mug, having failed to even take a sip after receiving it from the bartender. The friends he had met in the mines had introduced him to this pub, and they usually met here on Friday nights to celebrate their freedom from another week’s drudgery; today, though, Heinrich’s frustration and worry had driven him to arrive earlier than usual. He had hoped that a beer or two would help him relax and consider matters with a clearer head, but now that the mug was in his hands, he realized the futility of using beer as a contemplation aid. Now it simply sat there getting warm, and the few thoughts Heinrich spared for it mainly dealt with his disgust that he was trapped in a place that had to refrigerate its beer in order to make it drinkable. If only cold beer had been the worst of New Peloponnese’s problems.

Heinrich was a relatively recent arrival in New Peloponnese. His family hailed from a small community in Lero, which could trace at least one resident by the name of Amsel for as long as it had records. There were a few members of the family that had moved on from the village—the factories beckoned not too far away, after all—but for the most part the Amsel family had remained centered on its rural existence, and Heinrich passed through his school years with no greater ambition than to take up the family plow and raise a family of his own.

His older brother Klaus had higher ambitions. In school, Klaus had proven to be a good scholar and an even better athlete. Devoted to his community and his church, Klaus had nonetheless dreamed of leaving the small village upon his graduation in order to make a name for himself in the wider world. Grants and scholarships flowed his way, based largely on his performances on the pitch; however, the largest award by far had been a church grant to attend the prestigious Kaisergrad University in Caturix. Klaus happily accepted the church’s offer, and Heinrich remembered the going-away ceremony held at the local chapel in commemoration of his accomplishments. He left for Caturix the next day.

Heinrich, too, graduated, and took another step to achieving his humbler goals by marrying his sweetheart, Kristin, almost immediately afterward. The next few years were happy: Old man Amsel, still in his prime, nonetheless gave Heinrich and his wife houseroom as long as the younger Amsel did his part on the farm, while letters came every week from Kaisergrad where Klaus was, indeed, rapidly making a name for himself in university. It was a happy time, and all too brief.

Heinrich’s scowl darkened as he thought of the war that had torn it all away.

Movement to his left briefly shook him out of his thoughts. Heinrich glanced up to see Ivan Mlakar taking a seat beside him at the bar. “You don’t look too happy today, Heinrich,” the other man murmured as the bartender set a vodka down in front of him without even bothering to ask; Ivan had his fair share of ribbing over being a living stereotype in terms of his name and drink.

Heinrich shook his head as he turned back to his beer. “I’m beginning to wonder why I thought coming here was a good idea,” he said.

Ivan raised an eyebrow as he took a sip. “It’s a living, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically. “Free food, free houses, a bit of work and a lot of money; it’s better than anything I’d see at home in Bruvalkia.” He shot the rest of the alcohol down as if to chase away the memories of his homeland. Given its government’s ambitions and its quick collapse, Heinrich figured that he really didn’t want to know just what kind of chaos Ivan had escaped by coming to New Peloponnese.

Not that his own story was that much better to tell, but then, that’s why he hadn’t shared it. “It’s a good enough existence,” Heinrich admitted. “But I don’t want to be trapped here forever.”

Ivan gave Heinrich a sidelong glance as the bartender filled his glass again. “We’re not exactly imprisoned here,” he pointed out.

“We can’t leave without money,” Heinrich said instead. “And those piles of Achaian paper aren’t good anywhere else but here. Or the Peloponnese…” The Lerotian glanced at the bartender, who grimaced. Born in the ‘foreigner cities’ of the Peloponnese, the man had already explained to his clients just how his community had been treated in the Achaian heartland, and how he and his elderly parents had been forced to move out as soon as peace had been achieved between the Achaians and Melzae. A first-generation ‘Achaian’ like Heinrich could hardly expect a better welcome in the Peloponnese than someone who had been born there.

Ivan hadn’t been deaf to those stories, either. “You mean no one takes sherds except Achaians?” he asked. “Damn. I’d been hoping that I could find a way to order internationally with that cash. What good is it going to do in my sitting room?”

“None,” Heinrich grumbled. “That’s the point.”

“Ask your bosses in NDE,” the bartender broke in, taking Heinrich’s untouched beer away and replacing it with a mug that was still cold. “They’re native Achaians; they’ve got connections in the Peloponnese. They might be able to act as middlemen if you want to sell something… though they’ll want a fee for it, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Ivan snorted. He turned back to Heinrich. “That solve your problem?”

Heinrich shook his head. “If only.” There were plenty of things that he might want to send away for, of course; no one would ever describe New Peloponnese as a land of luxury, except perhaps to the bosses of New Dorian Enterprises and the military and political headmen who oversaw the whole place. But Heinrich was looking for services, not goods, and services were in very short supply in a land with a very small population, almost all of which was employed either by the military or by a mining company. Heinrich finally turned his attention to the beer in his hand and took a swallow, before blurting, “I’m looking for a school.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Want to move up in the world?” he asked.

Heinrich shook his head. “It would be nice, but there’s nothing to move up to here, is there?” he asked. “But no, it’s not for me. My son—you’ve met Klaus, haven’t you?” Ivan nodded. “He’ll be off to school in a couple of years. I wanted to make sure I knew what he would be getting into before that time came. It doesn’t look good.”

Ivan didn’t have a family of his own, so he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. He was certainly curious about what Heinrich had noticed, though. “Don’t those Megaron folks offer education like they do everything else?”

Heinrich snorted. “They require it,” he said. “They set up a school at about the same time that they started cracking down on our temple attendance.” That had certainly been a shock to many of the newcomers, most of whom were either Christian or Muslim. NDE’s advertisements had never indicated that religious conversion would be required, and for at least a few weeks the government had left well enough alone, but all of a sudden NDE’s new employees had found themselves inundated with messages and instructions “from the desk of the Logothetis of Internal Political Outreach” and “the desk of the Logothetis of Religious and Spiritual Matters” explaining just what new hoops the people of New Peloponnese were expected to jump through by the Achaian ‘Megaron.’ Rumors radiated from the head office of the company that the anax’s personal representative had come with an armed escort to bully the company leadership into complying with its directives, but Heinrich couldn’t find it in himself to feel sympathy for a company that had not only misled its prospective employees, but had apparently also been flouting the laws of its nation in so doing.

The new religious requirements didn’t trouble Heinrich as much as they would have at any other time in his life, no matter how much they troubled his wife. The Amsel family had always been firmly Christian, and the local church had been the focal point of the Lerotian community it called home; in his youth, Heinrich had been a proud member of the congregation. But the Christ who inspired such devotion in Lero’s rural towns was the same Christ whose example had driven Kaiser Wilhelm to war, and had nearly torn the Legantian apart after so many decades of peaceful coexistence in the face of more serious threats. His goodness could no longer be accepted without question. His session in Heaven could no longer be defended with certainty. So when the Achaians—the native Achaians, at least—demanded the conversion of their newly-minted fellow nationals to their strange Makarian Cult, Heinrich had no trouble speaking words that held no bearing on his mind and no weight on his heart. He was more interested in securing his family’s safety in a new world than he was in defending a relic of his past.

Too late did he realize that his desire for safety had caused him to overlook the same religious nationalist sentiment that had driven his family from the Legantian in the first place, present now in New Peloponnese.

“I assume the school isn’t good enough?” Ivan asked.

“Not at all.” Heinrich took another gulp of his beer; now that he had started, he found it much easier to enjoy his drink. At the same time, he figured that, with Ivan possibly doing his thinking for him, keeping a clear head was no longer a necessity, while letting it fuzz up for a while would at least prevent him from getting frustrated over an insolvable issue. “They set them up at the same time, Ivan. The school’s just as religious as the temple.”

“Ah.” The other man’s expression twisted into a scowl. “I see why you’re upset.” Like most of NDE’s new acquisitions in New Peloponnese, Ivan had had reservations about joining the Cult of Makaria. Those reservations had transformed into a true aversion after the first Cult assembly, where the anax’s representative, dressed in ostentatious priestly garments, had done a very bad job of pushing foreign worship on an uninterested audience. That said, Heinrich doubted very highly that Ivan understood just why the Lerotian would not accept the Cult of Makaria being put in charge of his son’s education.

He nodded anyway. “I’ve made inquiries,” he said. “Mathematics is as standard as I’ve ever seen it, thankfully. Apparently the authorities follow the international models with anything that will help them in engineering and manufacturing; I wouldn’t be surprised if it was all meant to make sure that they can keep building and repairing war machines, considering the obsession these people have with fighting. But history is an absolute shambles. Achaian history is covered in religious terms, and any non-Achaian history is completely ignored. No one can comprehend the sciences, let alone teach them. There are no language studies. There are no arts. There are sports, but instead of leading to careers they’re only meant to train students to work in teams and listen to the orders of their coaches as though they were drill instructors—preparation for military life when the students graduate. And of course, chapel however-many times a day to pray to Makaria for a good kill or something…”

The bartender interrupted Heinrich’s growl by clearing his throat. “I’ve gone through the education system here,” he said pointedly. “I don’t know how they do it in other places, obviously, but I never had any problems with an Achaian education. It’s served me as well as it needed to.”

Heinrich glared at a man with whom he normally got on well. “It taught you to march to battle because your goddess likes the sight of your blood on the ground,” he snapped. “Why else are we here, in an abandoned city in the middle of empty country? Achaians wanted land, so they took it, because Makaria wants only the best for her people and damn the rest—assuming that her people come out the winners. Given the personnel still floating around this place, it looks like the anax isn’t even sure of that much, is he?”

The bartender grimaced, but didn’t deny the accusation. Heinrich sighed and took another gulp of his beer. “Sorry,” he said when he set it down. “But you see what I mean. It’s the same, it’s all the same. I heard that claptrap up in Lero, from the propaganda and the preacher. All the same. ‘God wills it.’ God wills that we pick up guns and kill each other. I guess there are too many of us or something, but He’d prefer that we wiped each other out instead of having to dirty His own hands.”

Heinrich snorted again and drained his mug. ‘God wills it,’ he thought in disgust as he motioned for another beer. ‘“God wills this war, for the freedom of His children;” isn’t that what Klaus said? “We glory in His name and the promise of His Heaven, whether we return home as victors or swathed in the brilliance of martyrdom. I know the risks as much as I know the rewards, and I am not afraid to die in the name of the Lord, in combat against the Adversary’s chosen puppets. The freedom of Christendom is at stake, and only by this war will we guarantee its security forever. The Kaiser leads and we go gladly, knowing that he marches to the banner of the Lord.” Did you quote that letter to yourself, Klaus, when you saw the end coming? Was your spirit watching when they gathered up the last bits of you and put you in the ground? What did you say then for martyrdom?’

The bartender handed Heinrich the new beer he’d asked for, sending a long glance to Ivan as he did so; Ivan nodded, assuring the other man that Heinrich would make it home that night safely. Heinrich took no notice. Now that his thoughts were back on darker days, the former Lerotian found the beer in his hand to be a very good distraction indeed. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he was completely insensible, and the better part of him knew that Kristin would be furious if he turned up in Ivan’s arms on her doorstep again, but the memories of his brother’s last words to his family continued running through his head, demanding more alcohol to blot them out. Heinrich obliged, but not until he made one last declaration of intent to anyone who might still have been listening, mortal or divine. “My brother died for God because the preachers told him he should,” he said. “I won’t let some Achaian teacher tell his namesake to do the same thing.”
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Omonoia was not accustomed to being surprised by circumstances. In Kalymnos she had trained herself to avoid surprises, observing her surroundings and planning for every contingency she could. In New Peloponnese, however, things had changed: Free of her father and the threat he posed, Omonoia had rushed into her new enterprise with very little forethought, intent only on improving her lot in the chaotic aftermath of the Melzaean war. She had built a fortune already, at first merely following in the footsteps of her Peloponnesian patron Gerasimos, but then outright transforming the man’s relatively-small incursion into the New Peloponnesian market into a brand-new, fully-involved company whose reins she had never since relinquished. New Dorian Enterprises was funded with the profits open to everyone in New Peloponnese, but it was built on the back of a flood of immigrants, drawn to Omonoia’s side by promises of wealth and status, and thereafter kept dependent on her and her company. No self-respecting Peloponnesian would have dreamed of building a company entirely dependent on foreign labor; any non-Peloponnesian Achaian might have thought of it, but had they known (as Omonoia did) that slaves were available to at least some of the New Peloponnesian population, they might have disdained the thought of actually paying for foreign labor instead. Omonoia, though, wanted to be able to trust her employees—not just so that their higher morale would lead to higher profits for New Dorian Enterprises, but also so that her workers, if ever forced to choose between their employer and the Megaron, would be more likely to support Omonoia’s cause, no matter what it might be.

But Omonoia’s eagerness had completely clouded her judgment, and especially her foresight. Unused to surprises, the woman had lately been forced to confront them on an irritatingly regular basis, each time coming away with the sense that she had only narrowly avoided some pitfall, though sometimes she wondered if she had actually avoided it at all. First there was the surprise visit from the previously-disinterested Megaron representative, Kamatero, the son of the anax; Omonoia had been sure that he wouldn’t pose any problems, but by the time the strategos had seen himself out of their meeting, the woman had been happy simply that she had avoided arrest. Immediately afterward, all of Omonoia’s plans had had to change as the Megaron began to institute its policies more uniformly in New Peloponnese, sending representatives of its various offices to Marlum and enforcing the rule of Peloponnesian law much more forcefully. Omonoia, and NDE as a whole, had neglected to inform the company’s foreign employees of many Megaron-enforced requirements for entry into Peloponnesian territory, including and most especially the edict that no person other than a foreign diplomat could enter territory held by the Megaron without first acknowledging their devotion to the goddess Makaria. The mostly-Christian migrants had been furious to learn that they were expected to convert to a pagan religion; they grew even angrier when those who chose to leave New Peloponnese rather than worship Makaria found that they had no means of doing so legally without first entering the Peloponnese proper, which, again, accepted no entrants that did not first declare their allegiance to the Cult of Makaria. Those who attempted to smuggle themselves out of the country were exposed to the Achaian navy, which took a dim view of anyone attempting to sneak things past them. Those who swore themselves to Makaria in order to enter the Peloponnese, with the intention of boarding the first flight to ‘civilization’ as soon as they arrived in Kerkyra, instead found themselves struggling through remedial schooling due to a recent Cult judgment that New Peloponnesians were too ignorant to properly worship their goddess without further instruction. Then there were the military inspections and the threat of compulsory military service, without which the Megaron would not award Achaian citizenship. NDE’s security guards—who Omonoia had admittedly hoped to turn into something more—were snatched up almost immediately, and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the newcomers had their turn in Achaian uniform. Arguably, most of the immigrants hadn’t yet realized just how seriously the Megaron felt about this matter, or at the very least, they thought that they were somehow exempt from the requirement. Omonoia had no idea how NDE would survive, or how she personally would escape the disaster, when the Megaron shattered the newcomers’ illusions.

She hadn’t been idle, at least. In response to the immigrants’ existing complaints, Omonoia and her advisors, all of whom were more interested in business than in religion, scrambled to present themselves as employee advocates in the hopes of diffusing their employees’ anger, and succeeded in blunting the sharp edge of the migrants’ murderous mood. At the same time, however, this declaration meant that the Megaron’s representatives and negotiators were constantly bringing Omonoia more demands and requests that they expected her to pass on to her unimpressed employees, and would enforce whether the employees knew of them or not. Omonoia could only rarely get the Megaron to change its mind in any of these matters, and did so only when she obtained personal access to Kamatero himself in order to plead with him. And of course the Megaron refused to change its opinion in any case on those matters that most concerned everyone in New Peloponnese, religion and warfare.

It was only a matter of time before Omonoia was confronted by a delegation of those she professed to represent. She had plotted to avoid this meeting, trying to stifle even a hint of discontent with her ‘representation’ either through trickery or appeasement. But, taken up by her attempts to escape the inevitable, Omonoia simply failed to prepare for the meeting’s eventual arrival. And now, once again, she found herself surprised as three men, clearly of foreign extraction, simply entered her office, sat down, and refused to leave.

Certainly, Omonoia knew, she could have had them removed forcibly. Not all of the building’s security was provided by foreign arrivals, and the Achaians who had provided security for Gerasimos’s shipping enterprise were, simply put, more trustworthy than some foreigner that had answered an advertisement in the paper. But, confronted with the reality of the situation, Omonoia also knew that this meeting would only be the first of many if she failed to put the matter down now; and weaseling her way out of this confrontation, or removing the men who had come to confront her by force, would only ensure that her next meeting would consist of a hostile audience more likely to view her as an enemy than a possible ally. So Omonoia sat there behind her desk, struggling to keep her near-panic out of her expression, and nodded to visitors she had hoped never to talk to. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

The man on the far left cleared his throat nervously. “Pardon us, ma’am. We know you’re busy. But we’ve been hoping to talk to someone for a few days now, and… well, we’re getting desperate.”

“I understand,” Omonoia said.

The man smiled a little, already more at ease. “Yes, well… Ma’am, we’ve got a bit of a group downstairs that’s asked us to see you about the, er, the temple. The Cult, I mean.”

Omonoia barely withheld a sigh. “I understand that it’s a concern,” she said. “Unfortunately, it is established and maintained by the Megaron. I can only complain on your behalf, but I don’t have any authority to exempt you or anyone from Makarian worship duties.”

The man on the far right scowled, but the one in the middle only sighed. “I told you this was pointless,” he muttered.

The man on the left also sighed, but his expression was no less determined. “I do know that, ma’am,” he said. “I can only ask that you send a request to the Megaron or the anax or whoever to change the rules a little… I’m sure they’ll understand that we hadn’t been told about any of that when we came here”—Omonoia hid a wince as the man on the right glared at her—“so there should be some kind of exception, right?”

“I can ask, of course,” Omonoia assured her visitors. “That’s all I can promise, though. The Megaron is not in the habit of making exceptions. That said, the Megaron’s representative here has listened to me in the past, and has passed on my concerns to the anax on occasion. I can’t promise anything,” she insisted, “but I can at least make sure that your requests are heard.”

Understandably the group in front of her was less than impressed with that. Now the middle man and the one on the right were both scowling; the man on the left, though, still appeared earnest enough. “We’d really appreciate that, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, it’s not that we all don’t like Makaria or anything, but… well, some of us don’t, of course, but some of us don’t care, and… anyway”—Omonoia hid a scowl at the man’s nervous rambling—“it’s not just about the worship or the temple, ma’am, it’s about everything the Cult’s involved in. I’ve got a friend who, er, who put me up to this, to talk to you. He’s got a wife and a young son, ma’am, and he’s been looking for schools for when the boy is old enough to go. He tells me that the Cult runs the only school in New Peloponnese, and that it’s no good.”

Omonoia stared at the man, who seemed to realize just what he’d said and began to stammer. “I-I mean, uh, I didn’t mean—I mean it’s not right for what he wants, not that it’s—”

“I understand,” Omonoia cut him off. The man swallowed and nodded, shrinking back in his seat while the other two men seemed to ready themselves in case they were about to be ejected. Omonoia, however, had other ideas. Like so much of her more recent experience, she found herself confronted with an issue that she hadn’t even considered before. In this case, however, it was not entirely a bad thing. Omonoia, of course, had never experienced Cult-designed education; Kalymnos had its own standards, and beyond that she had been tutored in her father’s palace. She did know that the Megaron had declared attendance at Cult schools to be compulsory several generations before, and she certainly knew better than to believe that she could persuade the Megaron to excuse her employees from receiving a Cult education when the Megaron was apparently depending on that education as a means of integrating the new arrivals into Achaian culture—or at least Peloponnesian culture. But even if the Cult’s curriculum was inescapable, surely there was no reason to leave it at that, was there?

“Gentlemen,” Omonoia began after a moment’s thought, “I can almost guarantee that the Megaron will not budge on this issue. The anax and his people do not truly view immigrants as Achaians, and they are intent on turning those born in this place into proper Achaians through the use of education regardless of their parents’ beliefs and desires. I will, of course, speak to the Megaron’s representative about this matter as well—if you would tell me precisely how the Cult’s curriculum is deficient so that I can relay your concerns to him, I would be grateful—but I must warn you that he will very likely ignore the complaint.” She held her hand up to silence the protests coming from her surlier guests. “That said, in this matter, at least, we have the means to negate the Cult’s influence if we so choose.”

The men glanced at one another in confusion. “Could you tell us what those means are?” asked the man sitting in the middle.

Omonoia nodded. “As you might already know, I was not born in the Peloponnese. I come from the tribe of Kalymnos, which prides itself on its modernity compared with most of the other Achaian tribes and states. Technologically, we are the Peloponnese’s equal; socially, we are its superior, in my humble opinion.” She smiled, hoping to put the men at ease, and neglected to mention that Kalymnos was an economic island due to the Peloponnese’s monopoly on Achaian imports and exports. “Kalymnians are educated with home-grown curricula that can compare with most foreign school systems. Many Kalymnians go abroad to study, and many return as teachers to bring up the next generation. Our education is not dictated by religion. It was intended to be as modern as possible, so that young Kalymnians would learn the skills they would need to compete with other Achaian tribes, especially the Ikarian tribe, our neighbors. Ikaria’s education system has the reputation of being the best in the Achaian homelands. Becoming a teacher is certainly known to be a lucrative career in Ikaria. There are very often more teachers than there are classrooms there.” Certainly her father had scoffed about it enough times, wondering just how Vasilissa Kypseli could maintain so many out-of-work people with no skills beyond talking while they waited for a predecessor to retire or drop dead. “Those teachers are very often open to business abroad. And it sounds very much like you have business that could use educational experts, don’t you agree?”

The man in the middle of the group nodded slowly. “You’re suggesting that we set up a private school instead of dealing with the Cult?” he asked to clarify.

Omonoia was glad that he had asked, since his assumption would have landed him and anyone associated with him in serious trouble with the Megaron. “No,” she said sharply. “The Megaron will not accept competition. Every child is obliged to enter the Cult school, without exception.” She looked each of the men in the eye in the hopes of impressing on them just how important this matter really was. “But while your children are required to go to school under the Cult’s guidance, nothing in the law prevents you from instructing your children in private school or at home in addition, on your own time.” ‘Nothing yet, anyway,’ she thought to herself.

The nervous man on the left shifted slightly. “That definitely sounds better than nothing,” the man said after a moment. “I don’t think my friend will be too happy about it, but there’s nothing much we can do about that if the Megaron chooses not to do anything for us. But… how expensive is this going to be, ma’am? We only have what you’ve paid us; we can pool it together, but that won’t be enough for anything long term.”

Omonoia shrugged and shook her head. “You’re talking to the wrong woman,” she said. “I’ve never had to hire a freelance teacher, obviously. My experience with them is hearsay. But I know that they exist, and I know how to contact them. I can do that much for you easily. The rest will be up to you. Let me just say, though, that I’m confident you will find the solution you’re looking for. With as much as you have already achieved for yourselves and your families, I know that your children will be provided for no matter what.”

This was, it seemed, the right thing to say. The rambling spokesman looked incredibly relieved to hear Omonoia’s encouragement, and even the pessimists sitting beside him seemed less hostile after she said her piece. Considering that it would cost her almost nothing to actually fulfill the promise she had just made, Omonoia considered it time well spent; otherwise these three men would have left her office with nothing but empty platitudes, and it would have been obvious to the rest of the foreign-born ‘Achaians’ that neither Omonoia nor her company were in any position to help them. Instead, Omonoia had bought herself some time, and hopefully some extra support from her employees. And if it caused Strategos Kamatero any problems to find freelance teachers outmaneuvering the representatives of Makaria’s Cult… Well, as long as Omonoia could pass it off as a private matter between the teachers and their pupils, she could probably escape any official retribution for that, as well.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

General Klytaimnistra glanced around and sighed softly. From the outskirts, the amount of effort that had gone into constructing this town—for the camp designated ‘Alpha Prime’ was a proper town now, no longer a collection of temporary shelters—was easily apparent. Streets expanded outward toward school buildings and hospitals, half completed but still functional when properly staffed. The town center hosted a public meeting hall and administrative building, a police station, a fire hall. And there was a barracks building on the other side of town; Klytaimnistra frowned to think that, of all this construction, this one building would likely be the only one to see regular use.

Beside her, the Lakonian commander she was escorting through town nodded his head. “I think the vasilissa will be very pleased,” Antipatros said. “Akarnania is to be commended on the work done here. And the Peloponnese, of course.”

“Of course,” repeated the general.

The two, and their respective entourages, walked slowly down the abandoned street that only the day before had been bustling with Akarnanian militia, Peloponnesian military, and private Achaian citizens, all racing to leave the area before this border territory officially came into Lakonian hands. With the exception of the public meeting hall, where a skeleton staff of Peloponnesian military personnel were preparing for the official handover (the Akarnanians having entirely left the area behind, as instructed by their irritated vasilefs), the town was entirely empty. No one from elsewhere had any intention of remaining in Lakonian territory; those born outside of Lakonian society had no chance of advancement in the militia or the personal service of the commanders, leaving them in no better position than the slaves over whom the Lakonians ruled. This was, in some ways, a problem for the Lakonians themselves, since they had no chance of attracting enough of their own people to these new territories to fill the towns already built for them. But if Klytaimnistra was any judge, Vasilissa Exarcheia (as well as all of her predecessors) would prefer abandoned towns and empty spaces to a foreign population.

Given the Peloponnese’s reaction to foreign interlopers, the general had to assume that this was an Achaian, rather than a specifically Lakonian, trait.

“Vasilissa Exarcheia has already instructed several surveyors to make their way here,” Commander Antipatros added. “Given the exports common to other areas of southern Suran, we are confident that this area is home to several resources that will serve the Lakonian people well. However, we can’t be sure if we will maintain these resources for our own use, or if we will begin production for export to the Peloponnese to pass on to foreign markets; we will need to wait until we are sure of the exact amount of these resources at our disposal. I have been asked to acquire the Megaron’s surveys of the area, assuming that there are any. Do you have that information, General?”

Klytaimnistra nodded. “The Megaron, cooperating with Akarnanian surveyors, recorded whatever resources and items of interest could be found in the area. I did not see the compiled report, but the Megaron will almost certainly have that information. You can assure the vasilissa that this territory is wealthy enough to exploit for as long as she lives.” The general hesitated. “But not every item of interest in the report deals with natural resources.” Her eyes strayed westward for a moment.

Antipatros nodded knowingly. “Our scouts and patrols sometimes came across those ancient relics,” he said. “You’re thinking of the half-collapsed portico about five miles from here, aren’t you?” General Klytaimnistra nodded, raising an eyebrow questioningly. “It’s been marked on our patrol maps for generations,” he told her. “It’s probably the most impressive building still standing out there. Normally our forces were more thorough in destroying any hint of previous habitation; it dissuades anyone else from settling there. I can only assume that the party responsible for destroying that settlement was in some kind of hurry.”

The general fought not to scowl at the knowledge that the ruins surrounding the area were abandoned due to Lakonian actions. “Just how long ago was this?” she asked.

Antipatros shrugged. “Ages ago,” he said. “A building of that scale could only have been built for the use of a larger settlement. No patrol would have missed it, I think. Based on that alone, I’d guess that it was destroyed when the Achaians first arrived nearby. Vyronas himself could have been in charge of the party; who knows?”

General Klytaimnistra frowned at the idea that the first anax had been part of such a pointless endeavor, but she obviously had no proof to argue against it. Instead she said, “I don’t see how destroying some distant village would have helped Anax Vyronas or the Peloponnese. Why would he have bothered?”

Antipatros glanced over at the general with a sly smile. “How do you trust a rival to leave you alone?” he asked in turn. “You give him something to focus on in his own backyard.” The commander shrugged. “Or so it was explained to me when I was a lad. Vyronas may or may not have led the Achaians directly over here, but even your histories explain how Peloponnesians cleared the coast of the Achaian Gulf for our coming. The anax’s troops almost certainly made it this far. We just followed in their footsteps… as we are always asked to do.”

Klytaimnistra scowled. “Your tribe and your lifestyle are your own,” she said firmly. “The anax has always permitted the tribes to live as they desire, and Lakonia has made its choice. No anax has enforced Lakonia’s labor-related policies, nor has any anax suggested or encouraged them. Those decisions were made by Lakonia alone.” The general glared at her companion. “And I would not for a moment believe that the necessity of this acquisition, forced on us all by your vasilissa’s actions, should be considered a reward for her impetuosity.”

Antipatros raised his eyebrow. “If you care to see it that way,” he said. “I’ve never been fond of inventing plots by reading into several unrelated events, though, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t follow your logic.” The commander pointedly turned away, looking toward the town center where he knew the handover ceremony was being prepared. “Are we done staring at empty buildings, or shall we finish this?”

“I think we’re done here, yes.”
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“Your mother is furious.”

Kifisia, leaning over the anax’s desk, scoffed at the understatement, her eyes still locked on the newspaper lying out in front of them. Kerameikos glanced up at his wife briefly, before turning his attention back to the telephone in his hand. “The Cult’s authority on educational matters has remained unquestioned for five generations. Why have you allowed these foreigners to undermine it in New Peloponnese?”

Kamatero’s voice was nervous, but still determined. “I have agreed only to allow additional schooling as a private enterprise,” he began. “Everyone involved in this project understands that no student can be excused from attending a Cult school. I have reminded them all about this on several occasions, and I have further explained that no exceptions to New Peloponnese’s immigration policies can be made for privately-employed foreign teachers. Neither Omonoia nor her people seem deterred. Nor has there been a shortage of applicants for these teaching positions, according to these same people. The Megaron will know better than I regarding the number of immigration applications.”

Kerameikos scowled. “This insistence that Cult tuition is not enough to serve is in and of itself a challenge to the Cult and its mandated curriculum,” he said. “Nothing you have told me changes that. By allowing this to continue, Kamatero, you are accepting this challenge—you are siding with foreigners over your heritage and Megaron law!”

“With respect, Father, they are committing no crime.”

The anax sneered. “Undermining the authority of the Cult, first and foremost,” he listed. “This in addition to that wench’s private immigration program outside of the Megaron’s control or supervision. And as if these were not enough,” he added angrily, “slandering the international reputation of the Achaian people. Or did you imagine that an international search for ‘competent instructors’ could be kept out of the foreign press?”

Kamatero paused. “I have never heard of the media being interested in a foreign education system—”

“‘Education Auditing Board Sets Out International Agenda,’” Kerameikos interrupted, reading the headline of the paper in front of him. “‘Achaian Failures Cited in Report.’ This, Kamatero, is the result of an injudicious inquiry from your ‘New Dorian Enterprises’”—another sneer, coupled with a scowl from Kifisia—“to a teachers’ union in Gilead. As you might imagine, the Gileadan press has been full of Genoa’s ‘expressed concern’ about ‘falling or consistently low standards abroad’ for the last two weeks, with at least one image of a Peloponnesian flag in every such article!” The anax turned violently away from the offensive headline. “As if those nosy bureaucrats needed any further reason to question this nation’s values!”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. Eventually Kamatero asked, “Do you want me to arrest them all? The entire population?”

Kerameikos gritted his teeth. “The whole population is involved in this farce?” he growled.

There was another brief pause. “Essentially, yes,” Kamatero answered. “Not in the planning stages, but almost everyone in Marlum has spoken of the project favorably, and intends to make use of it.”

The anax considered that for a long moment. Finally, though, he said, “Then yes, arrest them all.”

“We will undo everything we have accomplished thus far—”

“New Peloponnese has accomplished almost nothing thus far,” Kerameikos snapped. “Its greatest achievements have come at the Megaron’s expense, or in spite of the Megaron’s authority. A land empty of private citizens would be very much preferable at this point, and I for one will be happy to hear the news when that day comes.”

“I can’t possibly arrest that many people in secret, Father,” the strategos protested. “New Peloponnese is known to the world now, you said it yourself!”

Kerameikos risked another glance at the Gileadan rag on his desk. “Then hide nothing,” he said. “Report NDE’s complicity in a human trafficking scam and deport its illegally-obtained employees. Imprison the woman and everyone associated with her. No doubt she can make up for the trouble she’s caused in a labor camp.”

“Father, this seems extreme.”

“It is, but it is necessary.” Kerameikos’s voice hardened further. “Let this be a lesson that you should deal with smaller problems as harshly as they demand, before they become threats that must be eradicated in the public spotlight.”

Kamatero’s voice wavered. “Yes, Father.”

“Let us never have to speak of this mess again.”
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Kamatero looked up as a secretary tapped on the open door to his office. “General Aigisthos to see you, sir,” she said.

The general himself didn’t wait for an invitation, striding past the secretary and nodding to his nominal superior. Kamatero nodded back and waved him to the seat on the other side of his desk. To his secretary he said, “That will be all. Please close the door behind you.”

The two men remained silent until the door thudded shut. Then Aigisthos said, “I understand that Anax Kerameikos has given us some unsavory orders.”

Kamatero nodded with a sigh. “Arrest everyone associated with NDE, either to imprison or deport them,” he repeated. “More than seventy percent of our population, removed.”

Aigisthos leaned back. “The population is too small for percentages like that to matter,” he said. “My men are more than capable of dealing with that.”

“I have no doubt,” Kamatero agreed. “I’m worried about the long term.”

The general raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that you had any long-term plans for New Peloponnese,” he said.

The strategos frowned. “You know as well as I do that New Peloponnese was not meant to have a ‘long term’ in the first place,” he said. “All of our plans ended as soon as the peace was signed.” He glanced out of his office window to see the sun shining on the green fields of what had so recently been southern Melzae, with the sea visible in the distance beyond them, and the largely-abandoned skyscrapers of Marlum planted where the two met, at the mouth of the Gabana River. “But whether we’ve planned for it or not, New Peloponnese has a long-term future now. Or at least, it will have a long-term future as long as we let these people demand one.”

“It appears that we won’t be doing that,” General Aigisthos said unnecessarily.

Kamatero only remained silent. Aigisthos’s eyes narrowed. “Or are you considering defying the anax’s commands?” he asked.

The strategos’s eyes snapped back to the general’s. “Careful,” he hissed. Aigisthos nodded slowly, but his hard gaze made it clear that he wanted an answer nonetheless. Kamatero finally gritted his teeth. “You’ve heard the latest from the Office of Military Affairs. Our ships are leaving for tours of the Reval. Our planes are being diverted back to the Peloponnese. The army already on our shores is all we have left, and you know that reinforcements from the Peloponnese will never come. We are alone, facing the hordes of Melzae, in a country we have left almost completely empty—and soon even our ranks will thin as soldiers are drafted into the MEF and sent to serve Oeslan’s needs.” Kamatero glanced out at Marlum once again. “Can we not take a moment to think about just what we are likely to throw away here?”

Aigisthos frowned. “I see an empty country,” he said. “Full of minerals, perhaps, but full of dangers postponed only by a veil of civility, too. Our forces can’t hope to maintain our hold on New Peloponnese long enough to develop it into a profitable asset for the Megaron.” The general shrugged. “NDE was doomed from the beginning, even if we do ignore its tendency to violate Peloponnesian law.”

Kamatero didn’t turn away from the window. “I see an opportunity,” he said, as though Aigisthos had not added his last observation. “Achaian history has always been confined to the gulf, to that little patch of ground in Suran. Even our international alliances have only served to make us more insignificant than we already were before. From the start of our dynasty, we have answered to foreigners, while our own interests remained firmly confined by our borders. My father is the first anax for many generations to look up from the Achaian Gulf and fix his sights elsewhere.” The strategos shook his head slightly. “I only wish that his sight was not so transient.”

Aigisthos said nothing. Kamatero took another moment to stare at Marlum in the distance, before turning his attention to his general once again. “New Peloponnese is the first step toward a greater international voice. I intend to fight for it, one way or the other.”

Aigisthos’s frown deepened. “Does this interfere with fulfilling the anax’s directives?” he asked.

Kamatero frowned also, but he nodded. “As we’ve already discussed, our forces are thinning here. We must rebuild our local forces if we intend to face Melzae, and we cannot do that if our local citizenry is entirely deported. So yes,” he finished, “it does interfere with the anax’s directives. Quite a lot, actually.”

The general leaned back in his seat, glaring at Kamatero. “You are playing a dangerous game, Strategos,” he said softly.

“Perhaps,” the younger man said. “But you said it yourself: Based on our original plans, we would lose this land within a decade. If the anax really intends for that to happen, what does he or anyone else care about who lives here, or what god they worship?” Kamatero glanced out at Marlum again, before returning his full attention to Aigisthos. “Even he knows, in the end, that he wants this land for the Peloponnese. But his orders now will only guarantee that we lose it even more quickly than before.”

“I think it pointless to keep this place if its people will not obey our laws,” Aigisthos pointed out.

“And I think it pointless to enforce laws in a territory we do not mean to keep,” returned Kamatero evenly. “And I especially think it pointless to enforce laws in a territory that will ensure that we cannot keep it.”

The office remained silent for a long moment. Finally Aigisthos sighed. “You’ve made your decision, then.”

“I have.” Kamatero leaned forward. “And now you must make yours, General.”

“Hmph.” Aigisthos glared at the strategos. “I am not the son of the anax. When any other Achaian disobeys his sovereign, he can only expect death in return. Things might be different for you—”

“Perhaps,” interrupted Kamatero, “but depending on the circumstances, they might not be that different after all.”

“Even so,” the general continued, “I am not interested in courting execution for the sake of the falsely converted. I am a Makarian,” he said proudly. “I serve my goddess, and I serve her chosen representative.”

Kamatero gritted his teeth. “Then trust me when I say that it is in Makaria’s interests, as well as our own, to see these people brought into her Cult, instead of scattered to the winds, bearing her ill will. And it is certainly in the anax’s interests to see New Peloponnese alive, populated, flourishing, and happy, and ready and able—and willing—to defend the Peloponnese and the Achaian people. If we must oppose the words of the anax to see to his interests…” The strategos turned away yet again, and didn’t finish.

Aigisthos considered the younger man’s words, before standing abruptly and looking out toward Marlum as well. Months after the Achaian conquest, the city’s near-abandonment was obvious even from this distance, and the general at first wondered if there was any point in attempting to save it. But he could still see those few signs of renewal: the newly-repaved road leading to the mines claimed by NDE, an Achaian-language billboard standing atop this or that building, and even the murmur of distant engines as vehicles made themselves known in New Peloponnese once again. The people here had come to stay, in a land that they believed they could shape and improve. They would not abandon it. Could he?

“Damn you.” The general turned to snarl at Kamatero, who continued to watch him. “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he said. “But only as long as you can persuade me that New Peloponnese has any kind of future at all. Otherwise I’ll send every man I have into Marlum and clear the whole place out.”

The strategos nodded, letting himself smile in relief. “I would expect no less, General,” he said. “Thank you.”

* * *

Encryption: Most Extravagant
 
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FROM THE DESK OF THE GOVERNOR OF NEW PELOPONNESE

To Kerameikos, Anax and Defender of Makaria’s Achaians and of the Peloponnese:

Kamatero, your son, sends his love.

As per your orders, Father, I have redeployed a brigade of troops currently stationed in New Peloponnese to the Makarian Expeditionary Force; these men await the final order of their reassignment. General Aigisthos and I are left with only three such brigades to defend New Peloponnese from any encroachment, but while peace remains, there will be no trouble.

Regarding your other orders, on my authority we have begun to construct holding centers in preparation for the arrest of those brought to New Peloponnese under the imagined authority of New Dorian Enterprises. While there have been delays in establishing these centers without drawing the attention of our erstwhile citizens, which I hope to have resolved by the time I contact you next, I am confident that your orders will be carried out within the next two months. General Aigisthos assures me that the armed forces at his command can carry out these orders as soon as I give the word, and thus I await only the construction of these centers before we can complete this task.

It is my intention to work with the Megaron to find willing migrants who would be willing to replace those who are to be deported, for the sake of continuing the trend of economic recovery that has thus far been achieved, regardless of the unfortunate and criminal means.

Under the Shield of Our Goddess, I remain:

Kamatero
Strategos
Achaian Peloponnese
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MAKARIA to the Achaian People:
Be as Many as the Stars
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