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Heart of Darkness; or: Ministering to the Interior, on a Personal Level
Topic Started: Nov 4 2015, 08:01 PM (112 Views)
Mastropa
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Stratigis Ilisia straightened her jacket nervously as she arrived in front of the Megaron. The guards, dressed so differently from the cultmen that she’d known all her life, saluted her nonetheless as she stepped out of her vehicle and made her way toward the doors. While there were still plenty of indications that something drastic had happened in this compound, life appeared to be returning to normal, or at least as normal as it could get in the political and military heart of the Achaian people. Ilisia sincerely hoped that this appearance wasn’t simply a front to mask deeper trouble; the last thing she wanted was to be caught up in a countercoup, or worse, to be arrested on her brother’s orders.

That assumed, of course, that her brother was truly responsible for the downfall of their father. Kamatero was his father’s heir, and had been publicly acknowledged as the anax after Kerameikos as soon as the latter had ascended to the anakate. Their father had raised them to handle their power responsibly, and while she had sometimes wondered if the pressure of leadership might not break them on occasion, Ilisia had always assumed that it would be Cholargos who would either collapse under its weight or let the power go to his head. Kamatero had never been the type to boast, and had never indicated that he desired more power than he already wielded. If he had truly been responsible for deposing Anax Kerameikos, then Ilisia could not hope to predict what he would do with her.

Immediately upon stepping into the Megaron’s entrance hall, the stratigis was met by a junior officer, who had apparently been sent to wait for her arrival. “Madam, I am Captain Alexios. Anax Kamatero is ready to meet with you. Please follow me.”

Ilisia nodded, and the officer turned to lead her through the Megaron’s corridors. It was not as though she didn’t know the way to the anax’s office, of course; she had grown up in this building. But she had no idea whether or not her brother, or this man who claimed his name, had chosen to continue using his predecessor’s office, and she had no intention of making her own way through a possibly-hostile complex to search for him if she should find that he did not.

She needn’t have worried: Captain Alexios led her directly to the office that had served her father for four years, knocking firmly on the door and entering as soon as he was acknowledged. “Stratigis Ilisia to see you, sir.”

“Please see her in.”

Ilisia sighed softly. That was certainly her brother’s voice, and as she was waved into the office, she was sure that it was his face as well, looking up at her from their father’s desk with an expression that was almost quizzical, as though he wasn’t sure what to think about her as opposed to the other way around. Or perhaps that was the question: What did she think about him? Would she demand to know the truth, and would she reject what he had to say when she’d heard it?

Would she cooperate?

“Ilisia,” Kamatero said softly, waving her toward the chair on the other side of the desk as Captain Alexios stepped back outside of the office and closed the door. “Please sit down.”

The stratigis did as she was asked, still staring at her brother silently, searching for any differences she could find between this man and the one she remembered. Other than his uniform and his surroundings, though, she found almost none. Nothing in Kamatero’s face or bearing hinted at whatever change he had undergone to decide that deposing their father had been the appropriate decision. Perhaps that was what hurt the most.

“Why did you ask for me?” Ilisia said dully.

Kamatero didn’t comment on her refusal to address him as ‘anax’ or ‘sir.’ “I asked for you to come here for a few reasons,” he began. “The first reason, and the simplest, is to congratulate you on your studies. I know that you’ve nearly completed your studies with Tydevs Shipping and Export. And of course, your publication has been very well received, at least at home.” Ilisia nodded, but said nothing, and Kamatero took her silence in the spirit it was given, moving on to his next point. “I’ve also asked to speak with you in order to ask if you would be willing to represent both Tydevs Shipping and Export and the Megaron in a negotiation. I believe it will be a matter profitable to both parties, as well as to the third party with whom we are negotiating.”

Ilisia leaned forward. “Explain to me why I would want to help the Megaron at this point in time,” she said flatly.

Her brother sighed. “I could remind you that the Megaron defends you, as it defends all Achaians,” he said. “I could tell you that the Megaron rules you, and that defying it is not in your best interests. Or I could tell you that you stand to profit no less than the Megaron, Tydevs, or anyone else associated with this negotiation. You personally,” he emphasized. Holding her gaze, he added, “As for why you would choose to ignore all of this and turn away from me, let me at least tell you that I’m no less horrified by the path I’ve taken than you are. I am not anax by choice—”

“What kind of excuse is that?” Ilisia leapt up from her seat and slammed her hands down on the desk between them. “You had a choice! You always have a choice! Whatever options you had could not have been worse than destroying everything Father stood for! How can you look at me and say that?”

“How can you judge me when you know nothing about the facts?” Kamatero demanded in turn. “I removed Father to fulfill the responsibilities that he put on my shoulders, to save the people who had put their trust and their futures into my hands! How many times have we heard from Father’s own lips that our duty to our people was more important than anything else? More important than blood!”

“And since when have those parasites in New Peloponnese become proper Achaians?” snapped Ilisia.

“Since Father declared it,” retorted the anax, “and since they went to New Peloponnese in Achaian uniforms to take it! Do you think the only people at risk from Father’s anger were the newcomers? The whole army stationed on the Melzaean border either supported me or had done nothing to stop me when I defied Father’s order to deport the population; when Father learned of that, who do you think was more likely to fall victim to him: me, or some random private who hadn’t the guts to speak up against me?” Kamatero got to his feet also, staring into his sister’s eyes. “I was not about to watch any of those people die for my actions, after all they had done in service to Father and the Achaian people. I took this risk upon my own head to spare their blood, and my efforts were rewarded with success. If nothing else, consider the lesson in that: Makaria sided with me.”

Ilisia stared for a long moment, before settling back into her seat. “That’s a ridiculous statement,” she said, almost amazed. “The logothetai were slaughtered. The presvyteroi are scrambling to promote their subordinates to fill the gaps that were left when you were through. No one has even dared to suggest replacing Mother, but the Temple of Kerkyra can only operate for so long without a protopresvyteros—”

Kamatero chuckled mirthlessly. “You’re as well informed as ever,” he said. “Sotiria’s channels into the Cult haven’t been plugged, I take it?”

“Not at all,” Ilisia answered without any shame. “You ought to encourage the Cult to choose more circumspect acolytes. At the moment, though, they appear to need every living body they can find.”

Kamatero returned to his seat and leaned back, slightly more relaxed now that the storm had passed through. “The logothetai destroyed themselves,” he said eventually. “I stirred the pot, but the fact remains that the Megaron was waiting to be stirred. The logothetai were so focused on their individual offices that their viewpoints constantly clashed with one another, leading Father from one extreme to another as he sought to keep the peace. Any logothetis that Father showed favor was targeted by the envy of the rest. Any policy suggested by one was derided by another. It was only a matter of time before someone could turn that infighting to their own use.” Kamatero shrugged slightly. “Initially we intended only to distract Father, to prevent him from focusing his attention on anything that would reveal our defiance of his policy. When he set himself up to discover our actions regardless, however, we used the resources we had available. It took barely any effort at all to prompt the logothetai to slaughter one another. The ease of turning these colleagues against one another so violently is… hard to explain.” Kamatero shook his head. “It was a clear indication that the current political model was doomed to failure. Fortunately, they themselves were the primary culprits of that situation, and pushing them into one another’s daggers removed the problem over which their blood was spilled as testimony. I had no qualms about taking advantage of their absence to remove the bureaucratic system that gave rise to them in the first place.” Kamatero sighed. “It needed to be done.”

“That kind of self-serving justification only proves that it was convenient for you, not that it was necessary,” Ilisia snapped.

Kamatero nodded vaguely. “It helped me, there’s no doubt,” he replied, “but I contend that it also helped the Achaian people. We’ll see in time.” The man paused for a moment as he considered his sister carefully. “I brought you here to make a proposal, as I said earlier. For your sake as well as the Megaron’s, I would like for you to hear me out before you make a final decision about helping me.”

The stratigis glared. “Spit it out,” she ordered.

“Father sent negotiators to tour the Suranese interior some time ago,” Kamatero explained. “The people we met with were asked to alert us if they should observe or encounter Victoriumites on the move. We set up some communications stations and basic infrastructure for some of these people at the time, and agreed to cooperate with them more fully for the foreseeable future. Achaian soldiers are still stationed in some of those areas, and have been rather cut off from the Peloponnese ever since their arrival given Serres and the Huron Nation between us. Given that handicap, they’ve performed admirably, and I am not about to waste their hard work by ignoring the advantages they’ve gained for us. I want to follow up on our previous negotiations with these leaders…” Kamatero passed a sheet of paper across the desk to his sister. “…especially this one,” he finished. “Idi Obote is marginally wealthier than most of the leaders surrounding him, and while his rivals have richer natural resources, Obote has developed a much more impressive infrastructure to take advantage of his assets. I want to tap into that infrastructure, just as much as I want to tap into his neighbors’ resources, and I am confident that increasing our influence with Obote will provide us with both in quick succession.”

“That doesn’t explain what you need me for,” Ilisia pointed out.

“You will be negotiating on behalf of both the Megaron and an Achaian business,” answered Kamatero. “I have no intention of tying up more Achaian soldiers with labor-intensive busywork. Infrastructure and resource extraction can be handed to those who specialize in that kind of work. And while Tydevs is not necessarily equipped to do this work either, it has contacts with those who are more than capable of doing it on our behalf, and will furthermore make its own profits by shipping the material when our investments finally bear fruit. That’s to say nothing of the business it will gain with a new foreign market hungry for Achaian products. Again, Obote is wealthy enough on his own that we can depend on him and his people as a new source of income. If he gains his neighbors’ riches besides, there’s no telling what wealth he can provide for the Achaian people.”

Ilisia scoffed. “‘If he gains his neighbors’ riches’—you mean, ‘when Achaian soldiers fight for foreign pay.’ Haven’t we fought enough in other people’s wars? You just said yourself that you didn’t want to tie up Achaian soldiers in frivolous tasks, but now you want to spread our military even thinner than it’s already stretched!”

“Hardly,” Kamatero answered dismissively. “The military won’t feel it at all. I intend to train them, and to support them from afar. Perhaps I’ll go so far as to bomb their enemies from above. But I have no intention of sending Achaian soldiers to die in another unnecessary conflict. I hope you will make that clear to Obote.”

Ilisia sighed. “You still haven’t persuaded me that I should take part in this exercise in the first place,” she pointed out.

“I have hopefully persuaded you that it will be beneficial to the Achaian people as a whole, and to Tydevs in particular,” Kamatero replied. “I can make it clear to Tydevs that I would expect their chief negotiator for these profits to receive a healthy reward for her actions. That would be in addition to the reward that I am prepared to give you, either monetary or political—that choice is yours.”

Ilisia looked at her brother silently for a long moment, waiting. “You might as well tell me what you intend to threaten me with if I should refuse regardless.”

“Nothing.” Kamatero shook his head. “I purged the logothetai. I didn’t purge the ambassadors. I can send any trained diplomat to speak with Obote, Ilisia. I chose you out of preference, and because I had hoped we could use the opportunity to clear the air.” He allowed his lips to quirk. “At the very least, we’ve done that.”

The stratigis leaned back in her seat, considering her options. She should simply refuse, she knew that already, but even as she snapped and snarled at her brother for his actions against their father, her own greed was beginning to make a hypocrite of her. Kamatero was offering her a share of the spoils; no doubt he wanted her to feel no less guilty about Kerameikos’s downfall than he did. It frustrated her to no end to realize that the offer was working just as well as he could have hoped. She only prayed that she wasn’t making it that obvious to him.

“Let me speak with Father,” she said suddenly. “I want to hear the story from his mouth.”

“And you will go to speak with Obote in return?”

Ilisia sighed. “Yes, damn you, I’ll speak with the native.”
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Things moved quickly, Stratigis Ilisia considered, when the anax’s commands actually meant something. The Serrian militiamen might not appreciate the Peloponnesian officers in their midst, but Vasilissa Kaisariani had appealed directly to her people to remind them that she had personally signed off on the new Integration Accord that would now govern Achaian interactions, which was apparently enough to get the Serrians to cooperate. Ilisia could already see that those instructions had caused some doubts about the vasilissa herself, but no one was yet willing to say anything about it aloud, and the stratigis certainly wasn’t interested in sparking an incident by asking questions herself.

So, only an hour after Ilisia and Ambassador Patmos had landed in Serres, a military helicopter was ready to take them on into the ‘wilderness’ of central Suran, a place that was apparently much more civilized than the cartographers’ ignorance would like to credit. Patmos had already explained the lay of the land, at least as it had been a few months before when he had successfully negotiated with the headmen of the towns, villages, and mini-states in the region to open up Achaian trade and establish observation posts to prevent any disastrous ‘migration’ of Victoriumite forces overland toward the Achaian homelands. Achaian politicians, soldiers, and industrialists had been working in the area ever since, though their progress was slow (and, for the corporately-minded, not at all profitable). The lack of return on the investment was partly caused by the shifting and divided nature of the region’s politics, and as Ilisia listened to Patmos’s description, she began to seriously consider how different her instructions from Kamatero had been from Patmos’s instructions from Kerameikos. Her father had asked his ambassador to treat every leader equally, and try to build a profitable relationship with all of them; for the most part, Patmos had been successful, but the corporations that had followed his lead had yet to be so lucky as they navigated the treacherous political landscape in the area. Kamatero, it seemed, had chosen to cut out the difficult barriers entirely, using Idi Obote as his tool.

Ilisia wondered if Obote would see the matter in quite the same way when he was introduced to Kamatero’s ‘generosity.’

Ambassador Patmos had outlined the political situation around Obote’s domain twice already on the flight to Serres, and Ilisia had studied the matter in print as she had waited for the helicopter’s preparations, so at this point she could be reasonably sure just what Obote would require from the Megaron in order to fulfill Kamatero’s desires. His territory was, as Kamatero had explained, slightly wealthier than all of those places around it, due mainly to a heavy investment in infrastructure that his neighbors either couldn’t or hadn’t matched. Those rivals’ money had been poured into extracting their goods, but very little had been used to facilitate the goods’ shipment from the point of extraction to their final marketplaces. Obote had remembered that crucial step. Money flowed into his coffers at a greater rate than his resource-rich rivals, and Obote had made a name for himself among mercenaries and other useful migrants for his higher-than-usual pay. But based on Patmos’s testimony from when he had freshly returned to the Peloponnese to report all those months ago, the source of Obote’s wealth was beginning to slow down. The resources had almost all been used up. Only by obtaining more would Obote maintain his popularity and stave off becoming a victim of disgruntled, unpaid men, many of whom had no attachment to him or his territory—assuming that his neighbors didn’t take advantage of his plight first.

Achaian money, weapons, and support filled that gap nicely, and Ilisia was prepared to offer still more on her brother’s behalf if Obote didn’t immediately leap to the occasion when she offered him the first. But she was equally prepared to withhold help from the man if he was not willing to serve Achaian interests in turn, mainly revolving around his own expansion. Kamatero needed Obote to expand into those markets that Achaian corporations would want to exploit, placing much of Suran’s interior wealth in the hands of a single individual who would by this time be very friendly to the Peloponnese. If he chose to do otherwise, the anax had already told Ilisia to find another leader to fill Obote’s role in the Megaron’s schemes, offering Achaian support for infrastructure construction in return for utilizing the existing natural wealth for economic and political gain at the expense of their neighbors. As long as one leader won out over the rest, Kamatero, and the Achaian corporate world, would be well pleased.

Approaching the transport that would take them west into the wilderness, Ilisia took a glance at the five attack helicopters surrounding it and turned briefly to Patmos. “You’ve already negotiated with these people once. Do they think the Office of Observation and Communication would have missed an obvious shift in opinion from these people to the point that attack choppers are necessary?”

Patmos shrugged. “Precautions are precautions,” he said. “They might not have taken the… handover well; we’d never know it because Observation and Communication was dissolved with the rest of the offices, and we’re still learning our way around without the logothetai to watch over our shoulders. Or there might be some rogues in the area that don’t like Achaians, regardless of their leaders’ views.” The ambassador gave Ilisia a look. “I would guess, though, that the main reason for attack helicopters is that the transport is carrying the anax’s sister, and he would be rather upset if anything were to happen to her.”

The stratigis considered that as she and Patmos ducked under the whirling blades and hopped into the transport helicopter. “Well, there is that, I suppose,” she said, making herself as comfortable as possible as the helicopter lifted off to begin its two-hour journey into central Suran.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

As the collection of helicopters approached the town of Kisoro, Stratigis Ilisia admitted to herself that the headquarters of Idi Obote was hardly the dust heap she had imagined as she had left Achaian civilization behind. First and foremost, it was a large town, almost a city, sitting on the edge of a small lake in the hills. Two factories threw smoke into the air as ribbons of railroad track stretched to the northeast and to the west, linking Kisoro with smaller villages that supplied both workers and raw materials to Obote’s power base. Ilisia had to guess that most of the factory workers lived right here, however, given the sheer number of houses, mostly crude shacks, that seemed to flow down the hillside toward the lake shore, surmounted by a concrete stronghold that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Argolida or Serres. The stronghold was evidently Ilisia’s destination, and as the attack helicopters hovered some distance off to demonstrate that they were not a threat to the guards on the walls, the transport helicopter descended into a courtyard surrounded on three sides by concrete faces, and on the fourth by a charming three-story pavilion-like house, with timber colonnades supporting a sharply-sloped roof. Guards approached the helicopter as its rotors began to slow, and the stratigis glanced over at Ambassador Patmos questioningly as she judged the seriousness of their intent. “Were they this nervous when you arrived the first time?” she asked.

Patmos frowned as he considered the approaching guards. “No,” he said, “I don’t believe so. Obote was prudent in his precautions, but never paranoid.”

The nearest guard shouted over the sound of the still-dying helicopter engine, “Remain in your seats and identify yourselves!”

Ilisia snorted. “I could barely hear him,” she said to the ambassador. “Does he think that he can hear me?”

Patmos didn’t reply, instead leaning out through the open door. “Stratigis Ilisia and Ambassador Patmos of the Achaian Megaron!” he shouted back. “We come on behalf of the anax!”

The guard frowned in annoyance and raised his hand to cup his ear; Patmos repeated his shout, and this time, as the helicopter engine became quieter, the sound carried enough to reach the native’s ears. The guard nodded sharply and waved his comrades back from the helicopter, but Ilisia noted that he did not simply send them back to their posts, instead retaining their presence as they surrounded the helicopter from multiple angles at once. “Come on out,” he called. “I will take you to Boss Obote.”

Patmos was apparently used to having guns trained on him in foreign territory, because he exited the helicopter without complaint and motioned for Ilisia to follow him. The stratigis was a great deal more hesitant, but she had no intention of letting the ambassador walk off and leave her alone with so many hostile individuals, and thus she forced herself to match Patmos’s pace as he approached the lead guard. “Please lead on,” he said, glancing over at the manor house. “I believe Mr. Obote is expecting us, but I can’t be sure that our message got through.”

“It got through,” the guard replied with a dismissive wave. “The boss was happy enough to hear it, but he couldn’t trust it for sure. Doesn’t trust much anymore, to tell you the truth,” he added. Ilisia raised an eyebrow at this man gossiping about his employer’s secrets without any hint of concern—he hadn’t even lowered his voice—but the rest of the guards seemed unsurprised, and Patmos only nodded in acknowledgment of the warning. “He’ll be glad to see you, Ambassador. And of course you, Stratigis… I said that right, yes?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” It had been slightly mangled, but Ilisia was not about to correct a man wielding a gun who apparently didn’t even fear his own militaristic employer’s anger, let alone some foreigner’s. Either Patmos agreed with that sentiment, or he wasn’t about to contradict her; he remained silent as the small group entered the house, while the whine of the transport helicopter’s engines picked up again as it prepared to take to the skies.

The interior of the house was tasteful, at least. The visitors first entered a narrow hallway, with cream-colored walls hung with pictures of the lake at sunset, happy children in tree-lined streets, and other generic but pleasant images that tried to disguise the very useful killing zone that this hall would create for any would-be invader. As the group walked down the hall, Ilisia glanced up and confirmed her initial suspicion of a pair of long, shallow balconies looking down on the narrow hall from above; the guards standing on those platforms merely nodded at her as she passed below them. The hall terminated in a T-junction, where their guide turned left and then immediately left again into a large, open room with lounges scattered throughout and an unmanned bar area in the corner to Ilisia’s right upon entering. There was also a stairway against the far wall in the right-hand corner, leading up to the next floor. The stratigis wasn’t surprised to see that the landing of this stairway opened into another narrow hall, but this time the wall on the right was interspersed with several doorways. There were a few people wandering about in this hallway, stepping out of one of the doors and moving along to another, but to Ilisia the scene seemed almost purposely abandoned, as though this hallway were an inconvenient intermediate point between one setting and another. She was glad when their guide turned to the second door from the stairway and entered what appeared to be a sitting room. “Please make yourselves comfortable,” he said, waving to a pair of lounge seats and a small table in the center of the room beside an ornate radio set. “There are refreshments on the buffet,” he added, motioning to a table set to their left as they entered, almost hidden in the corner where it wouldn’t get in the way. “Mr. Obote will be here whenever he can.”

The stratigis almost bit her tongue to prevent herself from asking what could possibly be more important than meeting with representatives from the anax of the Achaians, especially when one of them was the anax’s sister. Patmos merely nodded and thanked the guard, who nodded back and departed, closing the door behind him. As the ambassador moved toward the buffet, Ilisia let out her breath in a huff. “He’ll be here ‘whenever he can’?” she demanded. “You’d think he wanted to turn us against him! What kind of treatment—”

Patmos shushed Ilisia with a glare and a slicing motion across his neck. The stratigis was at first too surprised by the fact that a mere ambassador had interrupted her to comprehend his words, but they sunk in after a moment: “This room is either bugged or being observed. Insulting our hosts while we wait will only hurt our chances of successfully negotiating when Obote thinks he’s heard enough.”

Ilisia pressed her lips together as she considered the tactic Patmos had revealed to her. After a moment, she nodded in apology, before joining the ambassador at the buffet to fetch a cup of coffee. At the very least, she would be sure not to fall asleep while she waited.

Almost as soon as the stratigis and the ambassador took their seats on one of the sofas, however, the door to the room opened and the guard who had brought them there walked in. He glanced around once, before stepping aside and turning his attention to a man standing behind him. “The Achaians, sir,” he said, waving his hand toward the visitors.

“Thank you, Yoweri,” Idi Obote said as he stepped inside. “I’ll call for you if I need you.” The guard nodded and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him, while his employer made his way to the sofa on the other side of the table from his guests. “So, Ambassador, you’ve come again. It’s good to see that the Megaron hasn’t forgotten us out here in Kisoro.”

“It’s good to be back,” Patmos replied with a smile. “I can assure you that my anax has no intention of wasting the relationships we built together when I was last here. He’s given me a slightly more ambitious task today, which should lead to mutual profits on all of our parts, assuming you’re interested.” The ambassador motioned toward Ilisia, who, still smarting from the earlier rebuke, had refused to interrupt despite being ignored thus far. “Allow me to introduce Stratigis Ilisia, my anax’s sister, representing both the Megaron and Tydevs Shipping and Export.”

“The anax is playing favorites in the corporate world?” asked Obote with a raised eyebrow. “I can’t imagine anyone else is happy to hear that.” The warlord turned to Ilisia with a charming smile. “Welcome to Kisoro, Stratigis.” Ilisia noted that he spoke the word correctly, though his accent was still noticeable. “I hope you have enjoyed your stay here thus far. Be sure to take advantage of everything Kisoro and the surrounding area has to offer.” Obote’s smile widened. “You are of course welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“Of course,” replied Ilisia with a nervous smile of her own. “Thank you for your welcome, Mr. Obote. I’m very happy to be here.”

“You’ve made me curious now,” Obote said, turning back to Ambassador Patmos briefly before returning his attention to Ilisia. “Please tell me what this Tydevs company wants with me and my people… and of course, why the Megaron cares what Tydevs wants.”

Ilisia set down her cup to prevent the coffee from sloshing in her nervousness. “Well,” she began inanely, “Tydevs is one of the most prominent corporations operating in the Peloponnese. Our company ships Achaian as well as foreign products throughout Noverra, importing foreign products into the Peloponnese while sending Achaian products out into the wider world. Tydevs specializes mainly in overseas shipping, but it has expanded into railroad and over-the-road shipping in recent decades and furthermore…” She trailed off at Obote’s impatient finger tapping, and cut her advertising spiel short. “Tydevs is willing and able to connect Kisoro and the rest of the territory under your control with the Achaian Gulf. By connecting you to the Achaian homelands, you will have access to Achaian products and services as a matter of course, and will have a link to the wider world when it comes to exporting your resources and materials in return for technical imports from abroad.”

Obote leaned back for a moment as he considered Ilisia’s words, before getting to his feet and heading to the buffet. As he poured himself a cup of tea, he said to Ilisia, “I admit, I have been wondering if the corporate animals of the Peloponnese would come to find me out here. I’ve been preparing, you see.” Returning to his seat, Obote brought his cup to his lips. He smiled briefly, then set the cup down and eyed Ilisia sternly. “I’m sure you saw my factories upon your arrival. Two facilities, no doubt small by Achaian standards, may not appear to be much from your point of view, but they are an impressive investment for me. When Ambassador Patmos initially arrived, he offered, much as you do now, to link our production facilities to Achaian markets in the Peloponnese and beyond. And when I asked how he intended for my factories to survive this link, and how my people would maintain their employment when connected to the more impressive production capabilities of the Achaians and the outside world, he had no answer.” Obote turned to smile at Patmos. “You really should have warned the stratigis that I had already heard this proposal before.”

Patmos shook his head. “Tydevs’s involvement is only one part of the reason we’re here today, Mr. Obote,” he protested. “While the proposal sounds very similar to the one I put to you before, I can assure you that there are enough differences in this case to warrant a second look.”

“Absolutely,” Ilisia said with a firm nod. “Please remember that these networks don’t just import and export goods. They will also link you to ideas and technology that aren’t yet available in Kisoro. Achaian competition in the Peloponnese or elsewhere would only be harmful to you if your factories produced equipment and machinery that Achaian factories are also building. Retooling your factories to produce materials that Achaians have never bothered to build on their own—”

“I see no reason to spend more time and money in order to compete with the Achaian market, when I could just as easily prevent the Achaian market from entering Kisoro,” Obote said dismissively.

Ilisia realized that whatever interest Obote had in this conversation had fallen away as soon as she had made herself a salesperson. It was time to become a politician. “True enough,” she said simply, leaning back in her seat. “Kisoro can happily exist without Achaian products and services. Tydevs will find it unfortunate, but it will move on. Likely, it will move on to your neighbors.” Obote raised a brow in challenge; the stratigis obliged him. “Does Masindi have factories and exports? Does Hoima? Of course not; you sell to them just as much as you sell to your own people. I’m sure you can guess what will happen if I leave here and head straight to those other places, offering a wider variety of Achaian products at a lower cost, and a link to the outside world besides. All those resources that you have to import to keep those factories running… well, they won’t be heading to Kisoro anymore, will they? They’ll be heading to the Peloponnese on ships marked ‘Tydevs.’ Before you completely reject our proposal, you should think about the consequences we are likely to deliver as a result.”

Obote held Ilisia with an even gaze for a long moment. Finally, though, he turned his attention back to Patmos. “Ambassador, I seem to remember you claiming in our last meeting that your anax wasn’t interested in threatening me. It seems you were mistaken in your judgment.”

Patmos shook his head. “My anax today is not the same man that I served when I met with you last,” he replied. “Our new anax, Kamatero, has chosen to reevaluate the diplomatic relationships his father asked me to forge in these territories. Of all the leaders of central Suran, he has selected you, Mr. Obote, to be his partner, if you will allow it. But if you are unwilling to be that partner, my anax is more than capable of finding another to take your place.”

Obote narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What kind of partnership are you talking about, Ambassador?” he demanded.

“Quite simply, Anax Kamatero has no interest in spreading the wealth and focus of the Megaron among many different parties,” Patmos answered. “There are in his mind too many leaders in central Suran to give aid and attention to all of them without nullifying the effects of that aid, rendering all of it a waste. Instead, my anax desires to focus on one partner alone: to raise that single partner above the level of his competitors, and ensure that leader’s dominance over the whole of the region. We offer the Megaron’s military and financial support, as well as the interest and investment of Achaian corporations, beginning with Tydevs. Whatever negative effects such a link with the Peloponnese might bring to Kisoro cannot possibly undo the plethora of benefits that the Megaron intends to direct your way.” Patmos smiled. “Unless you would prefer that my anax finds another partner to invest in, of course.”

Obote’s self-satisfied expression had vanished by the time the ambassador was finished. Still, he saw the need to resist. “I can assure you that no other leader in this region is capable of bringing me down. Your anax would have to put up with disappointment.”

“My brother is well aware of the power, and of course the wealth, that you’ve accumulated here, Mr. Obote,” Ilisia said. “But he’s also aware of the shortness of your reach. The resources available to your rivals are much greater than those available to you, after all, and most of your resources have already been spent in your investments. Factories, railroads, construction for your townsfolk, mining, farming… You’ve put out a lot of money and a lot of time, Mr. Obote, and you’ve seen impressive returns on all of it, but you’ve reached the end of your tether now. Kisoro’s resources are all but exhausted. Your wealth will mean nothing if your people are turned out from the factories after they’ve already sold their farms to your lackeys in return for employment here. You’ll never find another way to employ them when you have nothing to mine, nothing to make, nothing to ship, and no customers to buy it. Because no one will buy what you’re selling, Mr. Obote, when another option arrives. And no one will sell you what you need, if your suppliers’ new friends should ask them not to.” Ilisia shook her head. “Your personal wealth is impressive, but with the Megaron’s help, any other leader in this area could match it. And while your neighbors would be improving, your own assets would drain away.”

Obote held the stratigis’s gaze as he sipped his tea. “Your anax has decided that extortion is more appropriate than negotiation, then,” he said.

“My brother intends to improve the Achaian economy by any means necessary,” Ilisia said unapologetically. “This region was saved by my father’s introductory negotiations with leaders such as yourself. The Megaron has set aside millions of sherds for development here. Achaian soldiers and contractors work to deliver services to you and to your neighbors that will improve your lives and reintroduce you to the world around you. I think, after all that, that the Achaian people are entitled to earning a profit on their investment… much as you have already done with your own, Mr. Obote. I’m sure,” Ilisia added, “that you understand the value of a good return.”

Obote took another sip of tea, before setting the cup down with a clang of finality. “What exactly are you offering me today?” he demanded bluntly.

Ilisia failed to hide her smile as Patmos leaned forward to discuss details. She might not have been the best corporate representative, but she at least knew how to use her advantages. Indeed, she thought to herself as she picked up the coffee cup again, that had even been slightly fun.
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Kisoro’s railways, Stratigis Ilisia soon found out, were a lot more extensive than she had originally assumed. Almost entirely owned and run by Obote, as the principal factory owner, these railways served the purposes of Kisoro’s fledgling industry, bringing in workers, manufacturing materials, and food from the outlying areas, and sending the workers and finished products out again. Those products, mostly farm and mining equipment (though Kisoro’s factories had a surprising ability to retool on short notice for limited runs), made their way out of the town on those same railroads, which branched into several different directions to reach the most distant corners of Idi Obote’s zone of control. Obote’s ‘borders,’ if they could be called that, were poorly defined, and the railroads had been purposely built to extend beyond Obote’s actual control in order to spark trade between his employees and his neighbors. Those neighbors were happy to receive these shipments, as most of the people in those places were subsistence farmers. The mining equipment was also sent in the hopes of encouraging Obote’s neighbors to mine more efficiently and cheaply, an absolute necessity as the mines under his control began to play out. With some of those neighbors, Obote’s gamble had paid off handsomely, as cheaper materials began flowing his way with the increase of industrialization; with others, the machinery was sent back in confusion, and Obote contented himself with food and other items, both essential and luxury.

As the raw materials needed for construction began to dry up, though, the factory’s output also suffered. Obote hadn’t initially seen this as a problem; he had more than enough to survive such a slowdown, as long as the factories never actually stopped. There were still plenty of neighbors buying his products, even if they had had to wait longer than they’d wanted to buy them. But Obote’s new situation began to unravel almost as soon as he’d adjusted to it, as Anax Kerameikos’s ambassador came bearing gifts for those who would listen to his suggestions and put their trust in the Achaian people. Suddenly Achaian soldiers and contractors were attached to every warlord and local council in the region, advising these people on how to develop their own infrastructure with Achaian help, and suggesting that the resources that were available to invest elsewhere should be sent to the Achaian homelands first and foremost. Achaian investments were likewise flowing back into the region, both in money and materials. Obote, like all of his neighbors and rivals, had soaked up his share of the Megaron’s generosity, but that kind of aid hardly comforted an already-rich man who was watching his customer base fall to the competition, or in some ambitious cases becoming the competition. By the time Ilisia and Patmos had arrived to renegotiate under the authority of a new anax, Obote’s advisors had been desperate to find new markets deeper in the interior of Suran. Upon learning this, the stratigis had immediately requested to see the information Obote had gathered on those peoples farther inland, and encouraged further exploration throughout and contact with the area. At the very least, the anax would want the information to know with whom he could negotiate next.

In that sense, of course, the ground had been cleared for Ilisia’s arrival; Obote could not immediately reject additional Achaian aid, regardless of his bluster, and he especially couldn’t refuse the Megaron’s decision to stop subsidizing his neighbors’ construction projects, especially those intended to make them Obote’s equal in manufacturing and distribution. But Obote could certainly complain about the idea of bringing Achaian goods and services to the people who otherwise listened to him. With his resources dwindling and his customer base dying, the warlord couldn’t hope to invest in further factories and refineries that would allow him to either find a new niche product or compete with Achaian bulk manufacturing in the Peloponnese and some of the tribal areas. As he had pointed out to Ilisia and Patmos, cheaper Achaian products would shut his factories down in short order. The stratigis and the ambassador had stood firm on Achaian products coming to Kisoro (which was, after all, the purpose of representing a shipping company in this place), but Patmos’s negotiations with Obote had allowed the warlord to claim a consolation prize in the form of additional subsidies specifically to construct more factories and research new technologies, in the hopes of finding new products to manufacture that even the Peloponnesians and others farther abroad might find interesting. Ilisia had appreciated the deal no less than Obote, since the materials for at least some of the technical construction projects would have to be shipped in from the Peloponnese or elsewhere in the Achaian homelands, almost certainly by Tydevs.

Overall, despite the initial hostility, the deal hashed out between Obote and Patmos had been beneficial to everyone involved, and hopefully to a few other parties besides. The ambassador had immediately transmitted the finished agreement to the nearest Achaian transmission station to be forwarded to Serres and on to Kerkyra, while Ilisia and Obote had slipped into more pleasant conversation now that the tension was gone. Ambassador Patmos had returned to the conversation with news that another transport would arrive within four hours to retrieve them, while in the meantime they could tour Kisoro and the surrounding area to determine just what materials and supplies Obote needed most. The warlord had agreed to that quickly (“I’m sure you remember the countryside, Ambassador, but you’ll love what we’ve done with Kisoro proper while you’ve been away”), and had immediately called together a small entourage to tour the town, almost before Ilisia realized that she needed to rush to finish her second cup of coffee.

Almost before she knew it, the stratigis was riding through Kisoro with Patmos on one side and Obote on the other, surrounded by silent guards while their employer pointed out the various important sites of the town, especially those that had been constructed, replaced, repaired, or improved with Achaian aid (either in money or labor). Some of these places, especially the factories, required short tours, and Ilisia had taken advantage of these breaks to ask among the guards and townspeople for their view of things while Ambassador Patmos kept Obote distracted with questions and comments about his admiration for the man’s single-handed accomplishments. By the time the tour was finished, Ilisia had obtained quite a lot of information relating to Obote’s economic woes from his not-entirely-trustworthy guards, whose pride in their abilities as fighters seemed to indicate the only test by which they had been measured prior to their employment. It was valuable information that Ilisia intended to use as much as possible in any further negotiations with Obote or any of his rivals, and was almost guaranteed to see greater profits for Tydevs when the various parties began bidding to either save or destroy Obote’s private manufacturing empire.

Of course, Ilisia’s optimism had to come with a price. Immediately after returning to the compound, with fifteen minutes to go before the transport came to return the Achaians to Serres, Idi Obote turned to the stratigis sitting with him in his vehicle and said, “Of course, you will enjoy your time in Kisoro more fully as time goes on. Tomorrow we will take the rails to the northeast; I have mining operations along that line, and there is quite a lot of game between here and there. We also have some other milling and manufacturing locations in that region, both along the rail line and farther afield. I’ve intended from the beginning to connect all of my projects by rail for some time now…”

The stratigis’s eyes widened in surprise. “Mr. Obote, I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she began. “I’ll be returning to the Peloponnese this evening. At the very least, I need to report to my brother.”

“I’m sure the ambassador here could do that just as well,” Obote replied, nodding to Ambassador Patmos, whose expression seemed deeply conflicted as he listened into this conversation. “And our radios work perfectly fine, even to connect to someplace as distant as the Peloponnese, thanks mainly to those stations you Achaians have established over the last few months. You’ll be just as connected to your anax here as you would be there, but here you’ll still be connected to Kisoro, whereas there… well, there’s no telling how distracted you might be.” Obote grinned. “Considering your negotiations here, though, I’m sure your employers at Tydevs would prefer to have you on-site to ensure that everything goes as planned.”

As the surprise wore off, Ilisia’s eyes narrowed. “I am a negotiator, Mr. Obote. I am not a troubleshooter.” She leaned forward slightly. “And I will not be a hostage to guarantee anything, either from Tydevs or the Megaron. Achaians are not known to diplomatically respond to such things.”

“Of course not!” Obote, to his credit, at least appeared to be horrified at the suggestion. “Why would I anger the Achaians after all they’ve just offered to me?” Any possible reference to the hostile opening of their negotiations that day was ignored. “No, I’m more interested in making sure that I have a contact who can cut through whatever bureaucratic obstacles are put in our way as we go forward with this partnership. Forgive me, but I know what corporations are like; I’ve had to deal with enough of them to build Kisoro into what it is today. If there’s any problem, either on my end or yours, I want to have a direct line to the people who can help resolve it. That’s just as true when it comes to the Megaron, of course,” Obote added. “If we’re going to work together like this, it only makes sense that I have… an embassy of sorts, I suppose. You would be absolutely perfect for that role, don’t you think, Stratigis?”

Ilisia had sputtered in shock, turning to Ambassador Patmos for help. He had none to give. “It would make logical sense that one of us remains behind to coordinate with the Peloponnese in the future. It’s likely not necessary, Mr. Obote, but there’s no reason that we shouldn’t prepare for any unexpected trouble. Tydevs will certainly appreciate having an agent who can directly contact you if necessary.” Patmos eyed the stratigis apologetically. “Unfortunately, I do not have the same connections with industrial leaders, at Tydevs or elsewhere, so I would not be of as much use to anyone by remaining.”

Ilisia stared at her companion for a moment in horror. Was he seriously agreeing with this ridiculous request when there was absolutely no reason to contemplate it? “Mr. Obote, I was selected by Tydevs to open negotiations with you, but only at my brother’s insistence,” she said. “I was never meant to be the company’s prime representative in a new market. I haven’t even prepared for any kind of stay here—”

“You can’t think that we wouldn’t provide for you, Stratigis Ilisia,” Obote interrupted. “I have built my reputation on providing for my friends and employees; of course I would provide for guests, too. As for the rest of it, your presence here, alone with Ambassador Patmos, suggests to me that Tydevs has no other representatives in mind for my… ‘market,’ as you call it. If they had wanted to send anyone else here, they would have done that immediately so that we could build a relationship. Instead, they sent you alone. Now either Tydevs believes you can represent the company better than you credit yourself, or it has no interest in providing me with a representative at all. I’m afraid that having no means to properly communicate with the company is out of the question.” The warlord turned his smile to Ambassador Patmos. “I’m sure your anax will understand the necessity no less than Tydevs, Ambassador.”

Patmos hesitated for a moment, apparently weighing the irate expression on Ilisia’s face against the points Obote had brought up, as well as his own diplomatic agenda of keeping the native happy. Quickly enough, he nodded. “I’m sure that my anax will see the need to check up on the stratigis from time to time,” he said to Ilisia’s disbelief, “but I will ensure that he understands why she remained behind. He will likely agree with the necessity.”

Ilisia opened her mouth to argue once again, but a quelling look from Patmos stopped her voice. Just like the first time that the ambassador had interrupted her, Ilisia found herself shocked at the man’s presumption, but she also couldn’t forget that he had been in the right when he had cut off her complaints the first time. Did he know something that she didn’t that made it necessary for her to remain? She hoped not; Makaria defend her if such an assignment became permanent.

“Then I… I suppose I’ll take you up on your offer, Mr. Obote,” the stratigis said, praying that her voice didn’t make her reluctance too obvious to the warlord. “I would be happy to be of service to you and to Tydevs.”

Half an hour later, Ilisia watched the transport helicopter that should have carried her away from here taking off, Ambassador Patmos saluting her from the window. She didn’t return the salute; she was afraid she might choose another salute entirely to respond to his departure.

* * *

“Obote took your advice, sir. He asked for Ilisia to stay as soon as we returned to the compound. She fought it, but between our coaching and Obote’s curiosity, she didn’t have any way of refusing him.” Anax Kamatero could hear the uncertainty in Ambassador Patmos’s voice as they spoke over the telephone, the ambassador having arrived in Serres only an hour before. “Will you require me to check up on them any time soon, sir?”

“Soon enough, I’m sure,” Kamatero replied. “But I’ll want to wait until Tydevs has already begun its deliveries before sending any additional help. I want to see what she’ll do on her own.” If she succeeded, the anax would celebrate the profitable employment of a useful subordinate. If she failed, the anax would content himself with the removal of a possible rival from the reach of any Peloponnesian support structure. Either way, Ilisia was right where he wanted her to be, and the anax had no intention of changing that out of any sense of remorse.

If she lived up to his expectations, she might have reason to thank him for it in the end.
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The connection between Obote’s area of control and the Achaian homelands was tenuous at best. Vasilissa Kaisariani had recently begun construction of a railroad network to link Serres to her closest native neighbors to the west, but the rail system in these unaffiliated territories was hardly worth speaking about, and the few roads that existed were dirt tracks more often than anything else. Among the first jobs for any shipping company tasked with handling freight in such a territory was the construction of the means by which shipments could be delivered at all. Tydevs would be extremely pleased when the Serres project was finished—though it would hardly mitigate the difficulty of reaching Kisoro or its environs, given the distance between the Achaian borders and the territories over which Obote’s money held sway—but at the moment, the company had been forced to organize the delivery of everything Obote had asked for via helicopter. Ilisia had responded by listing a significant quantity of asphalt at the top of Obote’s order; Kisoro would have an airport before the end of the month if she had her way, hopefully avoiding the relay of helicopters that journeying to this remote region of Suran seemed to require.

Thus, Ilisia found herself this particular morning in the outskirts of Kisoro, watching a procession of men and machines begin to pile the necessary materials together. Obote was supplying some of his own materials for this, but much of it was flown in by Tydevs, and Ilisia was pleased to see the company’s initial performance in this out-of-the-way locale. Construction, of course, was to be handled by the locals, and Obote had assured Ilisia, who had passed his assurances to Tydevs, that his people would be ready for additional supplies on schedule. Considering that Ilisia could see some construction work already beginning, even as supplies were still being delivered, the stratigis was at least reasonably confident that Obote wasn’t simply boasting.

“It’ll be grand, I think.”

Ilisia turned her attention back to the man in question, who had apparently finished his conversation with a local foreman and had joined the stratigis to look out over the construction yard. “It’ll certainly make things easier for you, Mr. Obote,” she said in agreement. “Shipping by air isn’t cheap, but it’ll be cheaper than trying to pass materials to you overland. No one else is standing in the way, at least.”

“Also true,” Obote said with a smile, but the gleam in his eye suggested that he had greater ambitions for this airstrip than a simple waypoint for freight. “I look forward to seeing how much more quickly we can develop this place once we’re finished with this project. Once we’re able to reach markets abroad, we’ll see a huge improvement here.”

Ilisia chose not to remind him that his factories would have no better luck competing against the international community than they would competing against Achaian corporations alone. After all, Achaian subsidies would ensure that Obote would have a source of income even as he widened his product range to compete in distant markets, so his anticipation was perhaps not entirely delusional. “I’m looking forward to seeing the changes,” Ilisia said politely.

Obote nodded, still peering into a distant, gleaming future as he looked over the local laborers, all paid from his pocket, setting up the preliminaries. “We’ll see them pretty quickly,” he assured her. “The international markets will only come with the airport, of course, but I’ve already set aside about a quarter of the Megaron’s latest gift for additional purchases closer to home. We’ll be dependent on Tydevs for the short term, but I want to ensure that long-term construction won’t be halted by unexpected delays outside of our control.”

Ilisia narrowed her eyes slightly, trusting that Obote was too distracted to notice. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Obote,” she said. “You’re already providing whatever supplies you can. What more can you purchase?”

The warlord shrugged. “Whatever my funds will allow,” he said. “I’ve had my eye on some additional factories and mining facilities for a while now, but haven’t been quite able to persuade their owners to sell out… yet. I’m confident I can change their minds with an increased budget.”

“So production facilities?”

“As well as their inventory, yes. But I’m also considering simple land purchases… farms, plantations. Mineral wealth, of course, too. There are plenty of deposits that are still untapped just out of my reach for the moment, and I intend to fix that before too much longer.”

Ilisia considered that plan. There were gains to be had in both the economic and political spheres, really. Obote’s earlier problems mainly stemmed from the lack of resources under his control to fuel his development program, and on that level alone purchasing more mines and plantations would be a boon. Additional factories might be a drain on those new resources, but they would also allow Obote to produce a wider variety of goods more quickly than he otherwise would, not only acquiring more wealth in the short term but also shortening the length of time before he would be reasonably competitive in the international marketplace. And of course, there was the fact that such plantations and factories already had a customer base, which Obote would acquire. Given that these places weren’t already under his control, there was no doubt that these would be completely new customers, with completely different sources of wealth to spend.

As for the political angle, Obote’s purchase of land and facilities, and his employment of people living in far distant places, would make him a force to be reckoned with outside of his immediate power base. His wealth had not been enough to compete with proximity before, but with additional backing from the Megaron, there was nothing to prevent him from extending his personal power except an obstinate refusal to cooperate on the part of the current owners of these facilities, who were presumably the financial and political headmen of their own parts of the region. Ilisia wondered just how many of them would see the long-term disaster that would await them if they allowed Obote to buy them out now.

She wondered too if that was how she wanted it to play out. Obote’s success had come about due to Kamatero’s generosity, but that was entirely because the anax intended to use the warlord as a convenient ally in the region. By increasing his own power, Obote was playing into Kamatero’s hands. And Ilisia still had her reservations about serving the man who had thrown her father out of his rightful office, and was even then turning the Peloponnese upside-down. The stratigis was still not certain why she had agreed to act as Kamatero’s representative in the first place, and the more time she spent in Kisoro, the more she desired to return to her studies in Megara. Obote himself was a large part of the reason for her distaste, admittedly: She found his smug attitude difficult to swallow, especially considering her lack of political refinement and training; she had no doubts that professional diplomats would have been much better at hiding their irritation when the warlord boasted of his accomplishments to her at dinner, for instance. Ilisia simply wanted to be rid of this task, and rid of Obote. And if she couldn’t be rid of him, she would settle for shutting him up.

It was rather convenient, the stratigis thought as she looked out toward the construction site, that the bosses at Tydevs, while pleased for the boost in business brought by their new partnership with Idi Obote, were nonetheless concerned that said partnership was allowing for the creation of a monopoly. Should Obote achieve his aim and bring the whole region’s economic production under his control, Tydevs would have to determine if making a return on their investment would be possible when their trading partner was capable on a whim of preventing every other company from operating in the region. Sure, Tydevs would never lose more than its initial investment in the region, even if it completely stopped doing business with Obote; the company had survived for generations without extending its business in this area before (for fear of raids from Achaian tribal militias, the Serrian being the most likely to strike in this corner of Suran). But now that the market was finally open for Achaian corporations, there was no reason to watch it close up again without doing something to prevent it… especially if that ‘something’ would bring Tydevs an even greater profit regardless.

Ilisia tried not to grin as she thought of Obote’s face when he learned that the properties he had been eyeing for however-long would soon be further from his reach than ever.

* * *

“I wonder if you’d heard, Stratigis, what happened up in Masindi.”

Ilisia looked up at the head of the table, where Idi Obote sat with a glass of wine. “I can’t say that I have,” she answered. “Was it anything interesting?”

“Rather.” Obote shrugged. “There were some properties that I managed to wrest out of Mukulu’s hands a few days ago. The poor man wasn’t exactly happy about it, but he couldn’t say no to the money, and I was much fairer with him than anyone else had a right to be. Either way, he kept a few fields for farmland and told me he’d retire.”

The stratigis remembered hearing Obote speak of Mukulu, one of his eastern rivals, before. The man’s influence was small compared to Obote’s, but he had been too distant for Obote to pressure before. The extra money, as Obote had just said, had made all the difference. “I must not have paid enough attention,” she said apologetically. “I’ve been distracted with all of the construction we’ve been undergoing.”

Obote smiled and sipped his wine. “Well, it hardly matters now,” he said. “Most of the facilities were sabotaged last evening. All at once.”

Ilisia forced herself to look surprised. “What happened?” she asked.

“Fires. A small bomb in one case. The most productive mine was rigged to collapse, apparently.” Obote shook his head. “It was such a waste.”

“I imagine. You spent quite a lot on those places.”

Obote shook his head more firmly. “I’m not talking about the money, Stratigis,” he chided. “The places themselves were rather special, or at least they were dear to me. I was sad to hear of their passing.” He certainly sounded wistful enough, and Ilisia was inclined to believe him, no matter how ridiculous the sentiment seemed to her. “I couldn’t help but laugh, though, when a message from Okot Odhiambo arrived this afternoon, suggesting that I might do better business farther away from his own haunts, and even proposed purchasing the ruined places from me as a… ‘going-away gift,’ I think he put it.”

The stratigis scowled slightly. “I didn’t realize just how rude your neighbors were, Mr. Obote,” she said, annoyed. Even her own efforts were more diplomatic than that! She had hoped that Obote’s rivals, especially one of their most prominent examples, would have more tact, especially if he’d been coached beforehand by Tydevs’s more covert representatives. Business deals that were otherwise never in doubt had been completely foiled over lesser insults.

With that in mind, Ilisia wasn’t surprised to hear Obote reply, “He’s going to be sadly disappointed when he receives my response.” She was surprised, however, when he paused for a moment before adding, “Perhaps I should say, ‘when he receives your anax’s response.’ I wish I could do more, but in this case the Megaron has already seen fit to express its own displeasure.”

Ilisia’s eyes widened in surprise. “I-I’m sorry?” she asked.

Obote nodded wryly. “My reaction was similar,” he said. “Ambassador Patmos contacted me via radio almost as soon as Odhiambo’s message arrived. Apparently whoever was responsible for this disaster also saw fit to destroy some Achaian-funded projects in the area. According to the ambassador, your anax made it clear to his forces that anyone taking advantage of the problem is the most likely culprit, and saw fit to send his own retaliation to Odhiambo as a result. Apparently the poor man was dragged from his house by the Achaian forces resident in his neighborhood and sent on to the Peloponnese via helicopter.” Obote took one look at Ilisia’s stunned face and nodded sagely. “If he is responsible, he’ll live long enough to regret it. If he’s not, he probably knows who is. My feeling, though, is that he’s probably a patsy of some kind. And if he is…” The warlord shrugged and took another sip of wine. “I’m sure your anax will find out who put him up to it.” Obote put his glass down and said evenly, “So I suppose you have quite a few things to report back to Tydevs tonight, don’t you?”

The stratigis swallowed nervously. “Y-yes,” she said faintly. “I… I had better get started on that right away.”

Obote nodded with a small smile. “I understand completely,” he said. Ilisia decided that the implications of that weren’t any less worrying than the rest of his story.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

It would never be said that Achaians gave up easily. That was especially true among Achaian business owners and financial leaders, who had removed themselves from the day-to-day lives of their countrymen when they attained the wealth and power of their positions, and often found their less-wealthy neighbors to be useful pawns in their games. Once they had gotten it into their heads that they had an unlimited source of patsies, laborers, or some other form of manpower, business owners had an interesting habit of ignoring the needs of those people—either as their employees or simply as their fellow Achaians—in favor of their own desires and ambitions. Sometimes they managed to improve the lives of their pawns in the meantime, but that outcome was all too rare in history.

Anax Kamatero normally would leave such delusions intact; business owners were useful pawns of their own when their companies came into contact with the Megaron, and they were all the more useful when they were happy and made to believe that they were getting the better end of any deal. But there always seemed to come a time when one or two such haughty personages decided that the anax was one of their pawns rather than the other way around, apparently believing that any government support they acquired was guaranteed regardless of their obedience to Megaron policy. Kerameikos had cured the Peloponnese’s larger corporate lords of that opinion within his first two years as anax, but Kamatero’s rise and the subsequent revelation that he had been largely responsible for the protection of New Dorian Enterprises in New Peloponnese had apparently persuaded a few company heads that their days of following orders were over. It was especially vexing because, of course, the heads in question were part of a company that Kamatero was indeed supporting, forcing him to wonder about their lack of gratitude even as he watched their efforts from afar.

Tydevs Shipping and Export was, without doubt, the plaything of very bold men. As soon as Kamatero had assured them that their work in the interior of Suran would be safe from Vasilissa Kaisariani’s frequent incursions into the area, Tydevs supervisors were flying westward in droves, desperate to make a good impression on the locals and open up a new market for international goods. Foremost among those, of course, had been Stratigis Ilisia, and Kamatero had explained even then to the company managers and representatives whom he had met to secure her participation that her mission on his behalf would be no less profitable for them than it was for him. They had been happy enough with his plans when he had described them, but that was at a time when all they knew of the wilderness beyond the borders of Serres and Argolida came from his own lips. Once their own representatives, including Ilisia, were present to report on matters as they saw them, the prospect of even greater profit easily twisted the minds of those corporate masters, and led to the current situation.

Their first act had almost certainly been a test of Idi Obote’s resolve. Making contact with one of the man’s many rivals in the surrounding area, Tydevs representatives had paid a reasonable fee to guarantee the destruction of a few of Obote’s newest acquisitions, and had promised further aid when and if Obote was able to respond. The patsy had performed better than advertised, in that his own employees had been a bit too liberal in their destructive tendencies: In addition to Obote’s newly-purchased property, they had also razed a couple of Achaian outposts in the vicinity, either by mistake or as revenge for the Megaron’s overt support of Obote’s ambitions. Regardless of the reason, Kamatero had been incensed; between the news’s arrival in Kerkyra and the arrest and detention of Okot Odhiambo, only five hours had passed. The anax knew, though, that that would not be the end of it, and he was prepared for harsher measures if they became necessary.

He was glad of his foresight only days later, when Ambassador Patmos reported that all of the local warlords and employers of the area, whose mutual rivalries were known to be fierce, had suddenly joined together and mobilized their local populations for a full conflict with Idi Obote. Such a mobilization had been unheard of before, simply because there wasn’t enough money to pay for it, so the sudden appearance of funds was enough to tell Kamatero who was responsible for it. He had to admit that he hadn’t expected such a bold move from Tydevs, which had no official comment on the matter and had professed no knowledge of Odhiambo’s actions already, but he wasn’t unprepared to meet it with a bold move of his own. He had his limits: Like his father, he couldn’t order his forces to move hither and yon when there were so few of them to spare, and his reorganization efforts had yet to fully mature. He could not hope to arrest so many people, all of them wealthy and well-defended foreigners, outside his own borders. So he chose to be much more direct about things, while putting many fewer Achaians at risk, and ordered nearby air bases to begin indiscriminate bombing raids in conjunction with Serrian cruise missile strikes. Vasilissa Kaisariani, who had recently returned to Kerkyra again in order to enjoy a more civilized lifestyle now that she was considered an important personage of the Megaron as well as a ‘foreign’ ruler, happily received Kamatero’s assurances that the Megaron’s protection over that territory no longer applied to anyone who did not receive their wages from Idi Obote. A similar message reached Vasilefs Monastiraki a little later in the day, by which time the high-level executives of Tydevs Shipping and Export found themselves unexpectedly invited at gunpoint to join the anax for a discussion over tea at the Megaron.

Now, seated around a conference table in a room lined with soldiers of the Kerkyra garrison, the five generals and admirals who had chosen sherds over national security waited nervously for the anax’s word. Kamatero was happy to keep them waiting, and sipped his tea thoughtfully as he eyed their untouched cups. “Drink up,” he admonished them. “We might as well be as comfortable as we can. I’m well aware that our discussion is going to be distressing for you.”

Slowly, the man on the far left reached for his cup and took a sip of his own. The other four officers remained as they were, either hoping to unnerve their ‘host’ by staring at him, or else simply too fearful to move. Kamatero didn’t care either way, and waited until his tea was completely finished before setting his cup down and turning his full attention to his guests.

“I admit to being rather disappointed with you,” the anax said after inspecting each of their faces. “I wasn’t entirely surprised, of course: You didn’t become the masters of a corporate behemoth without betraying a few dozen patrons’ trust. But I had certainly hoped that you would know better than to turn against your anax, of all people, when he has given you an opportunity for profit.” Kamatero shook his head in despair. “To think of the riches you could have accessed if you had just done as I had requested… Well, you’re not the only business leaders among the Achaians. If Tydevs will not perform as required, no doubt some other company will.” The anax’s gaze hardened. “Understand me: I will not have a patchwork of petty leaders fighting for power on my doorstep. I made that clear to you and to your representatives when we began this enterprise; you cannot claim to have contradicted me in ignorance. Your actions insult me, and it is your good fortune that I feel lenient enough today to hear your reasoning from your own mouth before I hand down your punishment.”

A couple of the officers looked at one another nervously, but the woman on the far right leaned forward aggressively; Kamatero assumed that she’d decided she had nothing to lose. “You’re contradicting yourself, Anax,” she said bitingly. “You can’t say that you’re giving us an opportunity for profit when your actions deliberately contribute to a competitor’s monopoly. The only reason Achaian corporations haven’t yet entered the interior markets is because of the danger of tribal aggression against our assets, and that danger has now passed. It is our duty now, both for our company and for the economy of the Achaian people, to maximize our profits at the expense of foreign buyers. You can’t punish us for that, nor is it your duty to stop us.”

Kamatero raised an eyebrow. “General Pinelopi, you speak to the anax of the Achaians. I can stop you, and I can punish you, as much or as little as I please. I rule with impunity, as my forefathers have always done, for the good of the Achaian people; and it is my duty as anax to remove those aspects of our society that harm the rest of us more than they help. Don’t believe that your wealth and lofty positions will save you from justice if you stand in the way of Achaian wellbeing.”

“And what is the greater wellbeing?” the general pressed. “Is it to make things marginally easier for your ambassadors, or is it to bring the riches of the west to Achaian markets? Our company serves the needs of too many people, Achaians all, for you to threaten it with punishment or destruction simply for doing its duty to its employees and to the economy. You’ll ruin it all, our work and your economy both.”

Kamatero frowned. General Pinelopi’s obstinate resistance to the rule of law only proved his point: Corporate leadership believed itself to be a breed apart, too important to obey even the Megaron’s explicit instructions. But these executives, at least, could be taught otherwise today. “I hardly need to punish your company,” he said evenly, “in order to punish you, General. Why should I harm the Achaian people when the source of my anger sits in front of me?”

Pinelopi swallowed, but she remained as calm as she could when she said, “Removing us will throw the company into chaos, and with it a significant portion of the Achaian economy. Those profits we are so desperate to maximize directly improve the quality of life for all of our employees and those of our business partners. Our current leadership is responsible for that improvement; no one else could succeed as well as we do.”

“At this point, you aren’t succeeding very well at all,” answered the anax. “After all, your actions have just brought you to the very edge of my patience.”

“Nonetheless, those actions were necessary to fully exploit the interior,” Pinelopi insisted. “If Idi Obote is allowed to gain a monopoly on the resources in the region, Achaian corporations will eventually be shut out of it. All of our investments, the Megaron’s as well as Tydevs’s, will be wasted. Of course I don’t predict that Obote will ever challenge Achaian dominance of the local markets, but he will find no reason to partner with us either when he decides that he can find better partners elsewhere.”

“And will he?” Kamatero asked, genuinely interested.

Pinelopi hesitated, and then shrugged. “It’s always possible. Izalith’s borders lie at the edge of Obote’s influence, just as ours do. If he should eventually decide to negotiate with Dunois, where will we stand?”

The anax raised his brow. “Then we’ll just have to make sure that we continue to offer him a better deal, then won’t we?” He frowned more heavily and added, “Though your most recent activities will certainly make him wonder if we can. Or if we are willing to, as the case may be. Perhaps you should have worried about Obote turning to other markets before you made him your enemy.”

The general frowned as well, and Kamatero wondered where she might take the conversation as he saw her build up her courage. “I believe we should give some serious thought to simply taking the place over ourselves.”

The anax scoffed. “With what for an army?” he demanded. “I have already promised my people that I would not send our soldiers into harm’s way without due cause again. Why else do you think I chose to throw sherd after sherd at Idi Obote? I want stability and easy access without paying the cost in lives.”

“And you’ll get it, sir,” Pinelopi assured him, and Kamatero noticed that the general had returned to addressing him with an honorific. That was progress, at least. “The people of the interior follow Obote because he pays them. He is their employer, not their lord or divinely-inspired master. The political economy of those areas exists solely because of money and business. As you know, sir, Achaians are particularly adept at the use of money and business.*” The general leaned forward intently. “If you intend to remove Obote’s rivals, let Achaian companies replace them. Let us buy plantations and mines from Obote himself, if he’s willing to sell; and if not, let us buy from the men you’re currently bombing into ash. Give those people a way out of the conflict and a tidy sum to see them off happily, and we’ll have the region under our thumb without trouble.”

Kamatero considered Pinelopi’s expression as he thought over her argument. “And what of Obote?” he asked.

“He rules through money,” the general said again. “Once we offer to employ his power base for better wages while cutting off his access to any market outside of Kisoro, he’ll be helpless.”

The anax snorted. “I wouldn’t underestimate him quite so badly, General,” he said, but he allowed some humor to enter his voice. “That said… I understand your reasoning. And I agree with your conclusions.” Kamatero looked over the other four officers sitting one more time, before focusing again on Pinelopi. “Fine. You have my blessing, General. But be warned: Ambassador Patmos, among others, will be watching your work carefully to ensure that your actions from now on align with this new plan you’ve set out today. Provided that you act in accordance with that, you are free to go.”

The other four officers slumped in relief, but Pinelopi retained enough poise to nod to the anax and say, “Thank you for your attention, sir,” before getting to her feet. Her colleagues wearily followed her example as she stepped away from the conference table and turned to the door.

“Officers,” Kamatero called suddenly, stopping them before they could leave. The five executives turned nervously back to the anax, fearing that he had changed his mind, but Kamatero only added, “I should warn you not to acquire any assets within range of Vasilissa Kaisariani’s raiding parties. The Peloponnesian military is in no state to fight unnecessarily, as I said, but the Serrian militia is another story entirely. Keep that in mind.”

General Pinelopi nodded again. “We will, sir, thank you.”
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Ilisia’s instructions from Tydevs changed frighteningly quickly. As Idi Obote’s rivals found themselves under a frightening assault from Achaian air support, Tydevs’s executives continued to supply Obote with the goods and materials he had initially requested, continuing the shallow ruse that they were not responsible for the resistance he had faced even as their representatives informed Ilisia of the deal struck in the Megaron’s meeting rooms to undermine Obote with Kamatero’s consent. The stratigis was told to support Obote in all things, including the expansion of his influence abroad, until otherwise instructed; a strong Obote now put pressure on all of his rivals, forcing them to sell as quickly as possible… sometimes to Obote, but sometimes now to Tydevs. Now Ilisia stood behind Obote whenever he suggested another land purchase, watching his liquid assets drain away every time he made a new investment, suggesting that he make more such investments as soon as possible, and wondering what she would do when he realized she had been steering him into a financial trap.

Of course, she also wondered how much money Obote had on hand to afford all of these new investments. By pushing him to sink as much money as possible into investments such as land and facilities, Ilisia was hoping to drain his disposable assets to the point that he could no longer pay his workers, but as the days went on and no one raised any concerns in that regard, the stratigis began to fear that Obote would not only survive these unprecedented expenses, but that he would make good on all of his investments, making him richer and more powerful than he had been before they’d started. Certainly that was how Obote saw the future, praising every one of her suggestions with dreams of the long-term profits he could expect from taking her advice. Neither he nor anyone else had even mentioned the possibility of running out of funds before he could recoup them.

Despite her fearful doubts, though, logically Ilisia trusted the Megaron’s assessment of the situation. No man, not even Idi Obote, had the kind of reserves that a corporation the size of Tydevs could throw away. Even if Obote began to make returns on his investments, Tydevs would ensure that they were miniscule compared to their potential. They might not be willing to attempt direct sabotage again, at least for the moment, but they would find any number of other ways to interfere until Obote’s position became entirely untenable.

And when that happened, the Achaians would be more than willing to start paying the bills in Kisoro… and claiming the loyalty of its people.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

It was only a matter of time before Kisoro came under the direct attack of desperate men. Stratigis Ilisia merely counted herself lucky that she hadn’t been caught up in it. When reports came in the previous morning, at such an early hour that she had been rousted from bed by the excited shouts and orders being thrown about in Idi Obote’s dining room two floors below her allotted bedroom, the stratigis had rushed around her room to gather her emergency supplies before slowly opening her door to make sure no one was in the hall outside; then she’d raced to the stairwell that would take her to the nearest emergency exit, where she intended to wait out the crisis. By the time she’d crept down those stairs, she’d seen through the windows the charred remains of several houses nearby, but she had also taken note of the fact that the flames were well contained by men she knew to be in Obote’s pay, while the guards looking on were alert, but definitely not panicked. Unsurprisingly (for those who knew her well), she changed her plans almost midstride, and instead made her way toward Obote’s personal section of the compound. It had become clear that the warlord was in no danger of losing his grip on power unexpectedly, and the stratigis hoped that he might have some answers to give her.

She’d found him still holding court in his dining room, where he had been taking breakfast when the first news had come in. Two men with short-range radios were taking down notes as reports came in from outside, while Obote and two of his foremost lackeys—Ilisia recognized Yoweri, the man who had guided her and Ambassador Patmos to their initial meeting with Obote to present Tydevs’s proposals—conversed lowly around a sketch of Kisoro’s street plan. The first order of business, Ilisia had learned as she listened in, was simply putting out the fires, and Obote was quickly satisfied about the progress being made in that respect. Finding out who had set them was no further trouble: The warlord had not survived as long as he had by being unconcerned with security, as his compound boasted to any observer, and the perpetrators had largely been eliminated as they’d tried to flee from the outskirts of Kisoro. Interrogations of the few survivors had already begun by the time the stratigis had arrived, but the initial answers to the interrogators’ questions had been predictable: The saboteurs had targeted Kisoro’s factories and Obote’s compound and had been halted before reaching their targets, and had turned their aggression on nearby buildings in the hopes of causing at least some damage before being completely routed. It was a senseless waste, and given that Obote was merely annoyed while the wailing from the radios suggested that the people of Kisoro were absolutely outraged, Ilisia guessed that the saboteurs’ cause had only been harmed in the long run by this attack.

Only one day later, sitting at the same dining room table, Ilisia decided that the ‘long run’ was going to be a great deal shorter than she had estimated it to be. The stratigis looked around at the gathered men, mainly locals from Kisoro and the area surrounding it, all of whom wore the same serious, focused expression as they looked toward Idi Obote at the head of the table. These men were only the faces of a much larger body, the ‘officers’ in Obote’s mercenary militia, and the number of people who would carry a gun on behalf of each of these violent killers could fill Kisoro twice over if their services weren’t needed across the expanse of Obote’s claims. For the first time, these officers had all been gathered in the same room, to be given the same task at the same time; whatever passed for Obote’s army would be thrown out into the world, and these men would lead it into the fires of his rivals’ towns and cities. At home, Obote had already replaced them: Achaians wearing business suits stood on the periphery of the room, looking out of place among the vaguely-military fatigues of the men sitting at Obote’s table, but no less dangerous than the locals. Brightly-polished pins bearing the Tydevs logo gleamed on their lapels, and even without the military insignia she knew they were entitled to, Ilisia could recognize the look of leadership in these men, and the dangerous calculations flitting through their minds as they determined the best chances for success for the security forces and engineers that answered to them, tasked now with defending Obote’s properties.

Ilisia glanced over at Obote himself once again and studied his relaxed confidence. He was, if anything, eager for the upcoming fight. With Achaian backing, his victory was all but assured. But the stratigis wondered just what kind of victory he envisioned when he sent his mercenaries to war. Did he envision himself the leader of a nation now, conquering foreign territory to rule at his whim? Was he simply looking to remove his rivals and maintain his industrial empire closer to home? Or was he looking forward to the slaughter, having little interest for the consequences after the blood started flowing? Ilisia found it difficult to read Obote at the best of times, having first met him only a few weeks before. She was hardly the best judge of his character. And having never seen him give the order for violence before, she had no idea what his reaction to the fighting would eventually be.

Kisoro would remain an interesting place for the foreseeable future, Ilisia had a feeling.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

In the days since Idi Obote essentially declared war on his rivals in the wilderness, any sense of government, law and order, or even society beyond the village level had been almost entirely eradicated outside of Obote’s own territory. Mercenaries hired on all sides had mauled each other relentlessly, paying no heed to anyone or anything that suffered in the crossfire. Nor were the Achaian bombers still flying at Kamatero’s orders any more discriminating, especially since the anax’s preferred targets (and Tydevs’s too, of course) usually consisted of infrastructure and production facilities, in an attempt to wreck every economy that Obote did not control in the region. Stratigis Ilisia had heard the stories third-hand from her radio communication with her employers at Tydevs, who received or overheard witness reports from the pilots and engineers responsible for much of the damage suffered by Obote’s enemies—well before the warlord’s own people had set foot within a mile of the territory in question. Evidently when attacking any location with a sizeable population, Obote’s path was paved with Achaian bombs. No doubt the arrangement served everyone’s interests at once.

Now Hoima, one of the few places that could claim to be a population center in this barely-organized region, had fallen prey to the combined efforts of Obote from the southwest and the Achaians from the east. Peloponnesian bombs had fallen like rain on one corner of the town, where a single factory and a growing railway hub had largely become a collection of craters and debris. More scattered bombs had found their way toward the wealthier residential sections and the markets, in the hopes of both paralyzing the local economy and casting doubt in the minds of enemy mercenaries that their employers would live long enough to pay them. Obote’s own mercenaries had been razing nearby farms for a day already, hoping to draw out Hoima’s motley garrison before they could be set upon by death from above; when the bombs finally fell, then, the mercenaries had surrounded the town to mow down those who attempted to flee the destruction, forcing any would-be refugees to choose between explosions and flames or bullets. The residents could expect no help from the east, either, as Vasilissa Kaisariani had entered the fray a couple of days before with the Serrian militia, grabbing both land and people while the local leadership had been focused on Obote’s attack from the opposite direction. Any reinforcements they might have hoped for would first have to face the Serrians; win or lose, such reinforcements would never reach Hoima before Obote held it in his hands.

There was always a lull just before any great action, as both sides took stock of their respective positions and double-checked their preparations and provisions. The lull this time would not be long, given the mercenaries’ impatience (and indeed, Obote’s own), but it nonetheless arrived in brief as the commanders ensured that their plan to attack Hoima was as solid as they could make it. It was at this point that said impatience prompted Obote to make the journey to Hoima himself, to observe the attack in person. Stratigis Ilisia had no trouble getting his permission to join him, and within hours the two, in the midst of a well-guarded convoy of old armored vehicles, had arrived directly behind the lines of Obote’s mercenaries, looking out toward the burning skyline of Hoima, almost close enough to touch.

Obote took one look at the place and grimaced. “I’ve wanted that refinery for years,” he muttered, disgruntled. “And now that it’s finally in my grasp, it’s a pile of rubble. I don’t agree with God’s sense of humor.”

Ilisia chose not to point out that Makaria probably had more to do with it than any monotheistic deity. “I think your men will appreciate your sacrifice when they attack Hoima tomorrow morning,” she said instead. “The less they can produce, the fewer trading partners they’ll have who might decide to stand up on their behalf. They must be terribly demoralized at this point; the sooner we attack, the better.”

Obote nodded to himself as he exited the small transport, with the stratigis close behind him. Overhead, another Achaian jet blasted by to deliver another pounding to a defensive position in the outskirts of the town, where Ilisia could only guess Hoima’s garrison had begun to regroup in anticipation of Obote’s imminent assault. The Achaian pilots were observant enough, especially after their experience in what was now the Despotate of Thraki, to see the signs of that kind of gathering long before it became a threat to any ground forces it hoped to ambush. The Achaians, at least, had grown accustomed to possessing air superiority in the theaters they fought in; throughout the last year, only the veterans of the Legantian Civil War had ever faced their opponents on even ground, with the UMC’s aging air support often completely overwhelmed by the Alliance’s better-funded, better-developed forces in dogfights fortunately far away from the MEF’s operations. The rest of the Achaian military had experienced golden skies above Melzae after the opening two days of fighting had obliterated the enemy’s air contingent, or else had faced an enemy in Haram Bo-Kay whose militia-like structure had no access to warplanes in the first place. Achaian ground forces had perhaps become too familiar with the knowledge that they were supported by almost-unassailable forces in the skies above them. Now the mercenaries in Idi Obote’s employ were learning just how glorious that experience felt, too.

The warlord himself was less impressed. “Your pilots targeted the infrastructure purposely, didn’t they?” he asked, resigned.

“Of course they did.” The stratigis looked over at Obote with a raised eyebrow. “Destroying enemy infrastructure is a basic tenet of warfare. Those refineries helped to fuel Hoima’s war machine.” Ilisia shook her head. “I suppose you already know that, of course. You have a habit of indulging in wishful thinking at inappropriate times, though, I have to say.”

Obote scoffed. “I think I can afford it,” he told his guest flippantly. His expression hardened as he looked at the remains of Hoima’s industrial areas. “I can’t say the same for repairs like that. Even if we pretend that none of those facilities will get another scratch between now and tomorrow evening when we can inspect them in person—”

“There’s that wishful thinking again,” Ilisia interrupted. “You don’t honestly think Hoima will fall within a day, do you?”

“I think the fighters will take whatever deal I offer after the pounding they’ve gotten so far,” Obote replied. “When they see how near we are to obliterating them entirely, they’ll capitulate without a fuss. I’m honestly more worried about letting the men loot after that than I am about the fighting.” The stratigis didn’t like the hungry looks that came across the men who had overheard their employer’s musings. “Regardless, whenever we look at the place more closely, it’ll be after all of what we see here and then some. I can hardly imagine repairing the damages I can see at this distance. Paying for all of what must be underneath the obvious damage will be an absolute nightmare.”

“It’s a war. Damage happens.” Obote looked over at Ilisia as she shrugged. “You might be better off simply leaving the facilities as-is. At least no competitor will rise up from it: If you can’t afford the repairs, no one else in the region could.” The stratigis smirked a little. “Or you could let Tydevs take them off your hands. We would at least give you some kind of return on them.”

Obote scoffed. “I’ve been looking forward to possessing these refineries for ages,” he said. “The first time I saw them, I wanted them. I can’t just give them up as soon as they fall into my hands.” He raised a hand to stop Ilisia from scoffing in return. “I’m aware that I just said I can’t afford to repair them. I will seek out investment. Perhaps Tydevs will be willing to sign on to that?”

The stratigis turned her full attention to her host. “We would need incentive, of course,” she told him. “But I’m certainly listening.”

Obote smirked humorlessly. “Incentive indeed,” he murmured. “I’m prepared to hand over a percentage of the profits in return for Tydevs’s—or anyone’s—financial interest in bringing these refineries back into operation.”

“Do you have limits in mind?”

“Only that those percentages will be enough to justify the cost,” Obote answered. “We’ll need to determine how profitable we believe the facilities will be once they’re repaired before we can negotiate in any detail. Until we have that information, though, we’re left to discuss matters in theory alone. Would Tydevs agree, theoretically, to fronting the immediate costs of repair and reconstruction in return for a profitable return?”

Stratigis Ilisia turned back to Hoima for a long moment, considering the flames that were still visible in certain quarters of the town. Ignoring the present vista, the stratigis tried to picture the town that Ambassador Patmos’s notes had described from the time he had come to negotiate here on behalf of Anax Kerameikos. The people had been extremely proud of their minor industry at the time, and Patmos had done his best to flatter it and its masters. Ilisia decided that she would do well to follow the ambassador’s lead in this matter, at least for the moment. “I can guarantee nothing without speaking to our executive management, to say nothing of our engineers,” she warned. “But provisionally… I can’t imagine that management will have any objection to an agreement in principle. Your proposal is sound. I will support it when I bring it to my employers.”

Obote smiled and held out a hand. “In that case, we can look forward to yet another profitable partnership,” he said. The stratigis smiled as well and shook the hand he offered, and kept her musings about the likely balance of power in such a shared project to herself.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

If Obote found it difficult to organize a mercenary advance across hundreds of miles from his base in Kisoro, he never let it show in a way that Stratigis Ilisia could see. As days became weeks, Obote continued to direct his forces into the neighborhoods and homes of one rival warlord after another, usually receiving immediate capitulation from the people who remained to ‘welcome’ them. In those cases where the local leadership was still at large, it took longer for the people to gain enough confidence to break from their traditional authority figures, but Obote’s mercenaries had proven capable of changing their minds quickly enough to prevent any serious delays: Their actions against resistant or even hesitant populations was enough to make Ilisia’s skin crawl, mainly because (unlike every other time she had heard of such occurrences in Suran and elsewhere) this time she had witnessed some of these atrocities during the fall of Hoima. Yet despite her instinctive reaction to the violence, Ilisia maintained her appearance of complete support for Obote’s cause, and reminded herself that the mercenaries were serving Achaian interests as well as their employer’s. Soon enough, the Achaians would employ them directly, and then perhaps their vicious tendencies could be alleviated. And if not, they could just as easily be eliminated as be employed.

Yet there still remained a sense of separation, faint but noticeably present, between Idi Obote’s ambitions and the Megaron’s supposedly-unlimited support. From the beginning, both Obote and Ilisia had been attempting to manipulate that difference in their own favor, and both of them had profited in different ways by the compromise they had reached early in their cooperation. Moreover, the Megaron’s position and Obote’s were in almost perfect alignment when compared to the early attempts of Tydevs Shipping and Export to sabotage their mutual efforts. But things had changed since those first days: Tydevs and the anax had resolved their differences, and both now sought Obote’s short-term promotion… but neither Tydevs nor the Megaron had seen fit to inform Obote of that agreement, which Ilisia found entirely understandable due to its long-term aims including his deposition. As far as the warlord knew, Tydevs was still being held at bay by the irritated anax, purchasing what it could in the region only at Obote’s sufferance and failing to acquire any additional aid from Obote’s rivals due to the Megaron’s decision to obliterate the most troublesome ones on his behalf. Ilisia had suffered some mild indignities at Obote’s hands already to remind the Tydevs representative of the situation as Obote saw it, but the stratigis had accepted the slight scorn without a murmur, secure in the knowledge that the Achaian winds had turned against Obote and his ambitions, regardless of the warlord’s own ignorance.

Regardless of his ever-present confidence, though, Idi Obote had been a reasonable man for all of the weeks that Ilisia had known him. He had remembered that his new dominance was largely due to Achaian support, and he had done his best to repay his debt to the Megaron through his actions and plans for the future. He had never overstepped himself, but had always capitalized on the overreach of his rivals, including Tydevs on that one notable occasion that had led to the current situation. And he had always ensured that his forces would walk away victorious well before they even stepped onto the field.

So when Stratigis Ilisia listened to Obote declare at dinner that he would send a detachment into the interior in the hopes of expanding his influence in that direction, she had honestly thought it was a joke, and laughed politely—only to find the rest of the table staring at her in irritation.

“I suppose there’s some degree of amusement to wring from the situation,” Obote allowed slowly, “but I would never have thought it would strike your fancy quite that suddenly.”

Ilisia stared back at the warlord. “You mean you’re serious?” she blurted. Glancing around the table at the other diners, all of whom appeared thoroughly unimpressed, she quickly cleared her throat and said more evenly, “Don’t your men have quite enough to worry about as it stands?”

“Why should they worry?” Obote asked. “We are nearly through in the east. Hoima, Masindi, Mubende, and even Tororo are already under our control. Your vasilissa in Serres has been cleaning up whatever we can’t reach. Within a week we’ll take Kamuli—”

“Or destroy it,” interrupted one of the other men at the table, someone Ilisia knew from previous encounters to be well acquainted with the fighting outside of Kisoro.

Obote nodded to the other man to acknowledge his point. “Kamuli is the last substantial challenger in the region,” he said. “Without it, the east is finished.”

“And the Megaron looks forward to your hegemony over this stretch of Suran,” Ilisia assured her host. “But the reason for our support was to establish a self-sustaining peace in a land that had previously been politically chaotic. We hope to see this land politically calm, no matter what kind of violence must precipitate that eventuality.” The stratigis shook her head. “Obviously, however, that vision requires your cooperation as well as ours. I would beg you not to throw away a victorious peace that is almost in your hands for the sake of still more ambition.”

Obote’s expression softened slightly. “I forget sometimes that you are ignorant of my history, and of Kisoro’s past,” he said sympathetically. “It is no wonder that you think as you do. I imagine that the Megaron has never even considered interacting with leaders farther west than myself.” Obote shook his head. “I grew up in those territories. I remember chaos and constant warfare. When I clawed my way to the top in Kisoro, I sent men back to my homeland to invite my family to join me, and learned that my parents, their siblings, and their nieces and nephews were slaughtered in a raid on the village within ten years of my departure.” The warlord clenched his fist on the table. “I have always considered it my destiny to pacify that place. Kisoro came first, and my nearest rivals had to be brought low, but now that has happened. There’s nothing more standing in my way except my own hesitation, and I will not hesitate on this matter. Not for anything.”

The stratigis struggled to comprehend; Obote had laid down a lot of information in his last statement, and she had to filter it before she could rationally reply to any of it. Once she registered what the warlord had said, though, she knew that rational arguments would be absolutely useless. That didn’t stop her from trying. “Unorganized fighting in central Suran is a thing of the past, surely,” she said. “Izalith deployed its forces in the wilderness areas months ago to cut down on just that kind of activity. Not only will be you be breaking the peace rather than bringing it, but you’ll be interfering with Izalithian work at the same time—an empire that has shown itself willing to expand at the slightest provocation, I’m sure you already know.”

“I do,” Obote said. “But Izalith has been careful in the past to avoid angering the Megaron unduly; otherwise we would already find ourselves under Izalithian rule, if you remember. The anax’s opinion matters to Empress Lillian, and thus far his opinion is for me to spread my influence, and the Achaians’ with me, as far as it will go.” Obote leaned forward. “I admit to being surprised at your distress, Stratigis. I would have thought Tydevs would have leapt at the chance to enter yet another Suranese market.”

Ilisia shook her head. “Tydevs is interested in expanding its influence in a comprehensive way,” she pointed out. “Its efforts in and around Kisoro and on your behalf have been intended to integrate Tydevs firmly with your economic situation. Superficially appearing in entirely undeveloped territory, according to your assessment, anyway, is going to help no one.” The stratigis frowned heavily. “And on that subject, shouldn’t your integration and development of the northeast be priority right now?”

“That is a long-term project, even with Tydevs’s ample investment,” Obote said simply. “I am certainly not about to abandon it, and yes, I have provided for the area’s security even as I turn my attention westward, but the interior will not wait for the years that it will take to rebuild the east to my satisfaction. I can assure you that I can, in fact, multitask,” he added.

The stratigis considered how she could respond to that, but every possible response required Obote to shift his thinking away from the course of action that he’d already chosen for himself, and Ilisia doubted that he would be willing to attempt it. Finally, she nodded her head in defeat. “I wish you luck.” No one else at the table seemed particularly pleased with that response, but Obote at least nodded in return, and the meal was allowed to continue.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

The town of Bukoba lay within thirty miles of Idi Obote’s westernmost production facilities, oil refineries that processed and passed on the crude that trickled in from points farther west. Upon investigation, Ilisia quickly learned that the whole western area was rich in fuel deposits of various kinds, but the chaos that Obote had earlier alluded to had prevented any serious development of the region, and was known to disrupt the few supplies that could be drilled from the ground. The refineries had completely shut down over two weeks before when supplies stopped arriving altogether, and the employees had been left to find menial work elsewhere while the bosses returned to Kisoro to complain to Obote. At the time, the warlord had been busy fighting in the east, and couldn’t respond. Now, though, he was intent on reopening the taps.

The stratigis had dutifully reported Obote’s actions to Ambassdor Patmos and her own employers at Tydevs, and had received a very mixed response. Patmos had been entirely unimpressed, and had explained to Obote personally that Anax Kamatero had no intention of sending his air power any deeper into the interior than it was already flying. Tydevs, on the other hand, only saw more profits, and encouraged the exercise as a means of both weakening Obote and possibly obtaining more supplies from his anticipated victory. It wasn’t often that Ilisia disagreed with her employers, but in this case she believed that her brother had the right of it: There would be no quick conquest this time.

Sometimes, though, she hated to be proven right.

Sitting in an out-of-the-way armchair in Idi Obote’s office, the stratigis listened in as one of the forward commanders explained in as much detail as he could why he was standing in front of his employer instead of commanding his troops a hundred or so miles away, and what exactly had happened to those troops as they approached Bukoba in their usual violent fashion. The terms ‘slaughter,’ ‘massacre,’ and ‘target practice’ were liberally included in this report, and Ilisia watched with morbid interest as Obote simply stared at the other man in horror. Finally the commander stumbled to a halt, apparently having run out of things to say, leaving the warlord to collect himself and ask in disbelief, “How many men did you face?”

“I can’t say for sure, boss,” the commander said shakily. “They ambushed us—”

“You said you were in an open field approaching the city,” Obote interrupted with a growl. “How were you ambushed in an open field, exactly?”

“One minute there was nothing, the next minute they were there,” the commander insisted. Seeing that his employer wasn’t impressed with his assertion, the man said, “It was like they popped out of the ground! I tell you, sir, they just appeared!”

“Tunnels, perhaps?” Ilisia asked, drawing both men’s attention to her. “Perhaps they learned some things from Haram Bo-Kay.” She shrugged. “Or Haram Bo-Kay learned some things from the interior. Either way, we’ve faced it before. I wouldn’t put it out of the realm of possibility,” she finished, speaking directly to Obote.

The warlord scowled. “Can you at least give me a rough estimate of their numbers?” he snapped at the commander.

He wasn’t prepared for the answer he got. “Ten thousand, easily. They hit the entire column, not even a delay from one end to the other.” Obote raised his brow. “I swear to you, boss,” the commander insisted.

“All from Bukoba? That’s ridiculous.” Obote got to his feet in agitation, moving around his desk to look out the window on the other side of the office as though he could already see his enemies. “It barely rates the label of ‘city,’ and you tell me that they’ve armed ten thousand men?”

The commander had no answer. Ilisia, however, had a thought. “What was the last you’d heard from Bukoba?”

Obote turned away from the window. “Two weeks ago, when the shipments stopped,” he answered, curious.

“The last information you have from Bukoba is two weeks old?” pressed the stratigis. “Anything could have happened between then and now. They could have armed refugees from somewhere, they could have gained allies from the four corners of the world, they could have bent the knee to Izalith…” Ilisia shook her head in frustration. “You’ll need to find out who and what you’re facing before you send more men in to get slaughtered. Remember, you don’t have the advantage of Achaian bombs this time around.”

“I remember,” the warlord snapped. Turning back to the commander, he growled, “Your scouts’ primary duty from this point on is to relay as much information about Bukoba as possible. I want those reports here in Kisoro before you make any movement in response to them. Understand?”

“Yes, boss,” the commander said hastily. Then he hesitated. “I’m not sure if we could do anything even if we were allowed to, sir. We lost so many men…”

Obote gritted his teeth. “I will provide you with reinforcements,” he said furiously in response to the unsubtle hint. “But I will not have you wasting lives. Prepare for everything, and for God’s sake, if it looks like a trap, don’t set it off.”

Ilisia hid a scoff at that rather useless advice, confirming her earlier opinion that the businessman was not also a general. She idly wondered if she could persuade him to take complete control of the situation away from his military guides and advisors, if she made it seem as though they were too incompetent to do the job. Obote seemed finally to have found himself out of his element, and losing as a result, and Ilisia had every intention of profiting while she could for her own sake, for Tydevs, and for the Megaron.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Two weeks ago, it seemed, the leadership of Bukoba, Byumba, and Musoma managed to put aside their differences long enough to agree on the basic fact that Idi Obote had proven to be a threatening man to have as a neighbor. Normally this was nothing out of the ordinary: Central Suran had always been a violent and bloody place, and gaining any kind of power only made one a target for other powerful people. But as of seven months ago, the nature of leadership in the region had changed in a rather sudden fashion with the coming of Izalithian peacekeepers, whose observations and implicit threats of Izalithian encroachment against any particularly troublesome communities swiftly brought the level of violence in the region down to a more manageable level. So when Obote’s actions, backed by another organized government entirely, threatened the tenuous peace of the Suranese interior, men who only a year before had been more likely to murder one another than talk found themselves sitting around the same table together, discussing in a civilized fashion how they would work together to stand against Obote and prevent his ambitions from turning against them. Such a meeting was unheard of, and the possibility of such cooperation would never have occurred to anyone who had not been exposed to Izalithian oversight and the proposal of conquest as an alternative for peaceful negotiations. It was no wonder, then, that Obote had completely failed to take this possibility into account.

The warlord learned this two days after his forces were unceremoniously routed from their advance into Bukoba. He had been furious at the news, and especially at the fact that he had failed to take note of a political shift already seven months past before making his decision to attack the region that he had still believed to be a chaotic mess. This time when Stratigis Ilisia suggested that Obote withdraw and make do with what he already had, the warlord was grudgingly agreeable; at the very least, he pointed out, he would need a better plan if he wanted to attack three or four communities at the same time. The stratigis was pleased that her host was once again listening to reason. She was less pleased, which was nothing compared to Obote’s fury, when reports came in over the radio almost immediately thereafter, informing Kisoro that the remnants of Obote’s forces in the west were being prevented from cleanly retreating by still more ambushes and skirmishes, as the enemy chased the Kisoran mercenaries to the very edge of Obote’s area of control… where two refineries and three scattered factories now fell under threat.

Immediately Obote sent out orders to drag as many of his forces out of the east as he thought could be spared, which meant essentially ‘everyone who isn’t shooting at the enemy right now.’ Several hundred men were shoved into rail cars and shipped from one end of Obote’s effective area of control to the other, racing through Kisoro on their way to the new front outside of Bukoba. Another collection of ‘volunteers’ were pulled out of Kisoro itself, further disrupting production even as the rerouted trains threw out every schedule in the town. These forces arrived in time to prevent the fighting from encroaching on the nearest refineries, but they were not enough to drive the enemy back toward Bukoba—in fact, they could only barely hang on to the ground they already had. Obote was forced to accept that he was lucky not to have lost his own assets in the aftermath of his attack, and Ilisia watched as the warlord and his most trusted servants settled in for a long, grinding fight.

That small consolation disappeared two days later, when Kisoro woke up to the news that two factories and a mine had been damaged in the newly-taken territories in the night. The notion that the employees wouldn’t simply accept a new employer, or that their families weren’t enamored of the new leadership simply because it was there, hadn’t entered into Obote’s mind; he was a businessman, not a ruler, and he had gained his experience in leadership through acquiring willing support from poverty-stricken neighbors. Now he was working in grounds already well-planted with very different loyalties, all of which had been negatively affected by Obote’s usually-violent entrance into their world. The result was predictable to everyone… especially a representative of the shipping company responsible for inciting violence against Obote’s economic expansion in the first place.

Nor had Obote forgotten that last part, given the exasperated expression he turned on her as he heard in detail how a third factory had just gone up in flames.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

“I think you’ll agree that the current situation is not acceptable to anyone.”

General Pinelopi nodded in response to the anax’s question as Kamatero leaned back in his seat, his attention on the map of Noverra hanging on the wall of his office. “I hope you don’t believe that Tydevs is responsible for Obote’s misfortune, sir,” she began. “Our company has had no contact with any wilderness communities west of Kisoro. Driving them to attack holdings within Obote’s area of control is counterproductive to a company that has invested heavily in those facilities.”

“I believe you,” Kamatero said with a dismissive wave, cutting the general off. “I am privy to the same information that was given to you, after all. Obote made a misstep, and he is now being punished for it.” The anax turned more fully to Pinelopi and added, “Now it is up to us to determine how we want to take advantage of the situation.” He raised an eyebrow. “No doubt your fellow executives have already cobbled together some plan to make a profit from Obote’s misfortune.”

The general frowned slightly, but didn’t deny the accusation. “The economic potential in Obote’s recently acquired territories is astounding,” she said instead. “We’re understandably interested in being able to tap it before Obote can manage it. If not for other considerations, this would be the perfect time for Tydevs to break cover and undermine his position in order to take over the facilities nominally under his control at the moment. As it stands, we’re simply offering additional security and sending more Achaian guards into those areas that are currently undergoing some form of sabotage.”

“What are those ‘other considerations’ you mentioned?” Kamatero asked.

Pinelopi’s frown deepened. “We will not openly antagonize Idi Obote while our representatives are within reach of his retribution.”

The anax nodded gravely. “I’m glad you think as I do in that respect,” he said. He had no intention of sacrificing his sister for any amount of profit, and would have been most unhappy if someone else, even her own employers, had chosen to do otherwise without his consent. “In that case, I agree with your assessment. Adding more security in the affected areas will cut down on the damage done to assets we intend to take for ourselves, and will also surround those assets with our own friendly forces. You are more than welcome to continue with that course of action.” Kamatero turned back to the map for a moment. “As for Obote’s specific problems… Achaian diplomacy might have to step in before the entire area is overrun. Tell the stratigis to relay to Obote that I will send my ambassadors to negotiate with Bukora and its allies. He is to be told that we are negotiating a peaceful conclusion to this incident, and will of course require some kind of sacrifice on his part to appease the enemies he made for no apparent reason.”

“May I ask what those ambassadors will really be doing?”

Kamatero shrugged. “Dragging on the conflict for as long as it takes to pull Ilisia out of Kisoro and put Obote down,” he answered. “Our job is done. Kisoro and all of Obote’s holdings are ripe for harvest. As long as Tydevs retains the capital to pay for its new influx of employees—and the security needed for as long as they are untrustworthy, of course—we will soon have a new despotate, and Tydevs will be the primary beneficiary.” The anax smiled. “Of course, my sister will have her reward for her efforts as well… from both of us, I’m sure.”

His expression prompted General Pinelopi to make Tydevs’s position official. “Of course, sir, of course.”

“Excellent.”
Edited by Mastropa, Dec 1 2015, 12:54 AM.
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Zinovios Mesolongias, Epistatis

Stratigis Ilisia looked over curiously at Idi Obote as the two rode in the back of an armored jeep toward the outskirts of Hoima. The warlord seemed at ease, but even after an acquaintance lasting only a month or so, Ilisia could tell that the man was stressed. His expression remained fixed at a distant point that only he could see, taking no pleasure in the changing scenery, and he had been uncharacteristically silent during the entire journey. Ilisia had respected his privacy, but his worries were almost self-evident at this point, so she’d had no reason to inquire. The stalemate between his forces and his western opponents in Bukoba was lengthening with no apparent solution, and as time went on and the factories began struggling with the limited numbers of workers they could acquire, Obote was forced to consider more and more distasteful means of ending the threat he had entered into without fully realizing the situation. Complete surrender was not an option, Ilisia had learned; not only did Obote’s pride prevent it, but news from the Megaron’s diplomats in the field had made it clear that the leadership of Bukoba and its allies would accept nothing less than Obote’s head, perhaps as a result of pent-up aggression finally finding an outlet after a wait of half a year. Either way, Kisoro was in the firing line, and there had been a serious scare two days before about the possibility of long-range artillery falling into Bukoban hands and raining fire down on Obote’s head even from as far away as his western borders. The stratigis had assured her host that she had heard no such word from the Megaron, whose diplomats would certainly have noticed such armament as they toured Bukoba and its vicinity. At the very least, her brother wouldn’t leave her behind if there was a real threat of shelling.

Silence from the Megaron, at least regarding the situation in the west, was balanced by updates and instructions from Tydevs Shipping and Export. Ilisia could expect daily messages from her employers in the Peloponnese, and replied almost as often in order to keep the executives informed of matters in Kisoro. Much of the information passing between them now related to operations in the eastern reaches of Obote’s control, where the plantations and factories that had drawn Obote’s attention had often suffered almost total destruction in the course of the fighting responsible for gaining those facilities for him. Tydevs had stepped in to repair and restock those facilities… and to guard them, after their usual security had been transferred to the west to take part in the fighting against Bukoba, leaving them vulnerable to sabotage. In some places, such as Hoima, Tydevs claimed that their Achaian employees outnumbered the remaining native population, which Ilisia found completely understandable after seeing the siege and assault of the place firsthand. Remaining residents were difficult to find in any of these towns, having been shown the error of their ways within days of Obote’s mercenaries’ arrival. Achaians, it seemed, would hold the towns and their factories together until things had calmed down enough to draw the refugees back to their homes, assuming that enough refugees could still be found alive to make the request worth the hassle. And assuming, of course, that the Achaians had any desire to work beside the native population as time went on, considering the continuing incidents of sabotage and attempted sabotage that plagued the region and added to Obote’s constant stress.

It was just such a message that had brought Ilisia and Obote out to Hoima today, a week and a half after Obote’s mercenary forces had stormed the town and put most of its inhabitants to flight. It had been brief and not particularly detailed, but the gist had been obvious: There was trouble in Hoima, almost certainly instigated by the few remaining locals, and someone with proven authority was needed in the hopes of putting the issue down. For some reason, Tydevs’s overseers in the area had decided that Stratigis Ilisia had said ‘proven authority’ and called for her presence, regardless of her own confusion. Nor had Tydevs made that request very subtly, all but ensuring that Idi Obote learned of the request almost as soon as she did. In his stressed state, the last thing the warlord wanted was news that even increased Achaian security wasn’t enough to prevent the elimination of his investments and the complete destruction of factories he had coveted for years, and Ilisia was left with no choice when Obote had immediately demanded that he accompany her to Hoima in order to determine the damage and the cost for himself.

Now in Hoima, Ilisia watched as Obote’s expression became more and more obviously nervous the nearer they came to the factory district. Both the warlord and the stratigis had taken note as they’d approached the town that the factories seemed no more damaged from afar than they had when the two had last seen them, a week before. That said, there was no telling what kind of delays had been imposed on the reconstruction process, and the threat of future sabotage remained high enough that Obote had been on the edge of requesting a general slaughter of the native populace by Achaian soldiers or militiamen when he had first heard of Hoima’s latest troubles. The stratigis had been instrumental in returning Obote to calm at the time, but she wondered how seeing the buildings in person would affect the warlord’s behavior, especially if the guards had no answers waiting for him regarding who or what was threatening his new acquisitions.

Turning the final few corners, Ilisia allowed herself to relax slightly as she got her first good look at the construction sites that had previously been two factories side-by-side along the main street. While the view wasn’t great—rubble and debris was still strewn across the neighborhood from these two facilities alone—it was also, as the stratigis had judged from farther afield, no worse and even a little better than it had been when she and Obote had last taken their leave of Hoima. Obote’s eyes passed over the scene with a desperate interest, even as he maintained his supposedly-disinterested slouch, seeking out any imperfection that he couldn’t remember seeing on the half-finished buildings. Ilisia left him to it as soon as her attention was caught by a man in a colonel’s uniform standing by the second of the two incomplete factories, evidently waiting for something. The question of what was answered as soon as he looked up to spot the approaching jeep; immediately he straightened his shoulders and waved down a couple of younger officers to relay messages for him into other areas of the site, before standing at full attention as the jeep rounded the last small bend and pulled directly in front of him. As soon as the vehicle was stationary, the colonel stepped up to open the door and nodded deeply. “Sir, madam, I am Colonel Narkissos. There is a lot to discuss, so if you’ll please follow me, we’ll get right to it.” If he was put off by Obote’s presence, he certainly didn’t show it.

As soon as the two passengers had disembarked, Colonel Narkissos was already leading them toward one of the ruined factories, whose entire rear portion and various annexes were nothing but ash and rubble. “We spotted the matter this morning,” the colonel said, not even looking at his guests as he strode forward. “There were a few homemade explosives and a simple timer left behind the door of the main entrance to the factory here; there’s no other way in that wouldn’t have made the culprit appear anything other than suspicious, and had this person gone any further into the building, he or she would have encountered our security forces without doubt. Regardless, I ordered the building searched from top to bottom, and am happy to report that there are no additional devices in this or the other factory building.” Narkissos frowned. “Of course, that means nothing when there is any number of places to hide a bomb in the surrounding buildings and cause some damage regardless; we don’t have the means to search every apartment in the neighborhood, nor do we have the citizenry’s good will to ask for their input.” The colonel sighed and raked his hand through his hair in frustration, which Ilisia frowned to see, unprofessional as it was. “If this keeps happening, we’ll eventually slip up, and then we’ll certainly lose every bit of progress we’ve maintained so far…”

Obote growled to himself as he entered the factory building, lit inside only by the light from the great hole in the back where the rear of the building had collapsed. Ilisia made to follow, but suddenly Colonel Narkissos held his arm out to stop her. The stratigis looked over at the man in shock, but whatever demand was on her lips died when she saw the impressively serious expression on his face. “Silence, please, madam,” he said in a whisper. In surprise, Ilisia could only nod.

Then came a thud and a shout from inside the ruined factory, followed by arguing, another thud, and then the sound of duct tape being pulled from the roll. The door opened again to reveal a new man, one of the officers who had received Narkissos’s instructions as Obote’s jeep had pulled up to the area. “We have him, sir,” he announced, somewhat breathlessly.

“Excellent work,” the colonel said immediately, turning back to Ilisia. “Shall we enter, madam?”

Ilisia stared at her companion. “What did you do?” she demanded.

Narkissos shrugged his shoulders. “I followed orders,” he replied. “Idi Obote is to be detained until further notice. His supporters in Kisoro are to be eliminated via air strike as soon as Obote’s capture is confirmed, which”—looking back at the younger officer—“you are to report in code to the Peloponnese immediately.” The other man saluted and rushed off.

Ilisia finally shook off her shock. “Who gave the order for this?” she demanded.

“General Pinelopi, madam,” the colonel answered. “She says that Anax Kamatero signed off on the orders, also.”

“Why now?”

The colonel looked uncomfortable. “I’m not certain, madam,” he said. “But I imagine that it involves the fighting in the west. I understand that the Megaron’s senior officials were most unhappy about it.” Narkissos glanced back at the factory once again and added, “I think he might be visiting Bukoba at least once soon.”

“Bukoba?”

Narkissos nodded. “I understand that they demanded a peace offering before they would cease the fighting: Obote or nothing.”
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