Tasked with keeping a profitable and productive order both within and without the Spire of Haustellum, the Fractured Concord was forced into action after the so-called “Enque Incident”, which had invited the attention of humans to the Merchant Princes’ transactions. With a more aggressive approach decided, his efforts were concentrated on removing the influence of the Directorate and their puppet Merchant in the area; Mimetic Assassins were deployed to remove human contacts.
It began with the removal of the local Baron’s illegitimate son and greatest threat to his heir. This, however, the Fractured Concord mused, would immediately draw the attention of the Merchant Prince, the so-called Puppeteer. After the target was successfully removed in what was made to look like a mugging of drunken youths at night, the Fractured Concord decided to turn his attention to the Spire, before he settled affairs in the realms of mortals.
In an aggressive move which sought to send a clear message after the Puppeteer’s failures, he decided to remove the Puppeteer directly, ensuring beforehand that the merchanting license would now be passed to an agent of the Lineages. Over a civilized beverage, the Fractured Concord informed the Puppeteer personally about their inevitable demise. Begging for their life, the Puppeteer suggested they would share information about the Directorate’s research on the Fractured Concord personally, if they were spared. Ignoring the plea, the Fractured Concord allowed for the Finality poison to do its job.
With the Puppeteer expired, the Fractured Concord turned his attention to the human matters, deciding to secretly support Ellaine de l’Enque to succeed the local Baron – and former client of the Puppeteer. Thought to be a strong leader, with strong military support, he considered her appointment a message to all parties involved: leave the humans be for now and avoid attracting attention. Breaking the news to the Directorate, he met with Assistant Director Scheduled Serendipity. Considered extremely ruthless and calculative, the Assistant Director offered the support of their Directorate in his decision about the human matter – then immediately attempted to gain his support in her attempts to take her mentor’s place. Suggesting that to meet production quotas, more manpower would be needed, she proposed the assignment of military troops to the Directorate. This, the Fractured Concord suspected, was intended to enhance her own influence and perhaps overthrow her mentor. In the end, he toyed with her before making it clear that he would not meddle with the affairs of the Directorate but he would assign the troops.
In a way, he did exactly that. When assigning troops to the Directorate, he ensured that he favored no one and that the Directorate members would fight among themselves for troop numbers, turning against each other. Most of the troops were assigned to the Board as a body – but the Assistant Director managed to secure a good portion for herself, taking over much of the project.
Satisfied with the way the meeting had gone and admiring Scheduled Serendipity’s cunning, the Fractured Concord left the meeting, disguised as one of the Directors’ servant drones. Having replicated in a special Avatara its body, he felt safe enough to follow the Director, Equicoval Excellence, in his office, as was expected from the drone, after all. When he was stabbed, it came as an absolute surprise.
Overhearing Equivocal Excellence marking the event as the first Field Trial – and remembering the final words of the puppeteer – the Fractured Concord found it impossible to abandon the Avatara and, horrified, began plunging into darkness.
Tasked with the keeping of productive order (and control) in the mortal heartlands, this agent of the Sovereign would see his mandate threatened by the ambition of youth. Following the “Enque Incident”, the Fractured Concord must ensure no further unplanned disturbances occur.
(Choice: )
The results of the clumsy aspirations of the so-called “Merchant Princes” can only be rectified by the artful intervention of a true strategist.
My dear friend,
Allow me to convey how very pleased I was to hear that the provisions I had delivered have safeguarded your people from the worst effects of the Draught. Allow me also to offer my sincere congratulations. Your distribution and handling of said provisions was masterful, providing just enough to care for your people, while exceptionally avoiding suspicion about their origin. It was, as your people say, well played, my friend.
With the long-awaited return of rain, I am certain that your land will be invigorated, its thirst satisfied and its products revivified. Fear not, friend! I do not mean to imply that payment is soon due. I am more than prepared to wait and no demands for compensation will be made, until production is normalized on your end. I merely wanted to express my delight that your people will soon have nothing more to fear.
In regards to the matter of the affliction you name “The Red Fever”, I urge you not to be alarmed. While I fear some of your kind may still be troubled by it, there is perhaps opportunity in every disaster and my people just so happen to have a countermeasure appropriate to the “Red Fever”. It will, of course, be provided to you and allow me to offer this remedy free of charge. I will only ask that it be shared with selected individuals among the nobility of your people, safeguarding their existence. Others, less understanding of modern times, may not fare as well.
Now, to more practical matters. While the late Count De Lerac left a vacuum in our plans and, surely, our hearts, the non-aggression agreement we had reached should by no means escort him to oblivion. I understand the pressures you must be under in that regard and I am confident that…
The feathered pen was left down. Written communication in the human tongue had a certain artistry to it, which was found admirable and even entertaining at times. Still, it would prove primitive and exhausting after a while, without fail. Once more, the Fractured Concord contemplated about succumbing to the temptation of transferring to one of the hidden vessels in the human lands and conduct business personally. But subtlety was of the outmost importance in this case. It should be observed without impatient interruptions.
The pen was lifted again.
The map before the Fractured Concord glowed with lines, notes and future plans. It was a simple trick really, one widely used by the higher echelons of powers in any Spire; bioluminescent ink glowing in a specific color wavelengths, beyond the visible spectrum of natural eyes and attuned to one’s modifications. There were workarounds, of course, so the Fractured Concord reserved other tricks for truly sensitive information, but the manipulation of the local humans were hardly a secret worth dedicating too many resources in preserving. Besides, another advantage of the Fractured Concord’s condition was that an Avatara husk’s eyes, especially those not created for combat, were always much more open to modifications, with less danger of taxing brain functions, so he was able to use multiple spectral ranges on the same map. In this occasion, ultraviolet for his own agents, infrared for the confirmed agents of enemies; a color-coding system if ever there was one, the Concord mused.
Confident in the security of its plans, the Fractured Concord let its eyes travel once more over the map, before deciding which pawn was to move next.
Choice
Infrared: Whether knowingly or not the barony of Enque serves the Directorate and the imbalances there almost caused an unscheduled conflict. The events of Nepenthe must not be replicated, nor must the humans be allowed to spread it. Prepare the ground for a change of coloring in the map.
Victory did not discriminate between the increase of one’s own strength and the weakening of an enemy. The net result was the same, thus the conclusions equal. The Directorate, of course, was not an enemy per se. All of his Sovereign’s people were invaluable subjects. It was more of …an antagonistic presence, perhaps. A sparring partner that one can’t really eliminate but one does so enjoy defeating on every turn. So weakening it by removing their pawns might not be a necessary move in this match but it would be a satisfying one, not to mention an investment for the future. All that remained was to decide on the method and… A distant voice sounded from a tube on the wall behind him, informing him that his presence was required. The Fractured Concord sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Another pair was opened a while after, somewhere else. The switch was never easy and frustratingly impossible unless things were arranged just so. But in Haustellum, these matters had long been efficiently prepared, the procedures for the switch between these two were adequately primed at all times. After all, his private study had no access, only a minor Avatara husk waiting to be commandeered, while another was in his more known rooms. Unless Haustellum itself broke or withered, none but him could enter.
The Enque Incident. That was what the humans called it. The day the heir to the barony of Enque had threatened the Spire, enraged by the existence of numerous siblings; which in turn had been the result of a potency potion provided to the Baron of Enque by someone in the Spire in exchange for resources. Had it not been for the direct intervention of the Fractured Concord, the “incident” would have had another name entirely, one with the word “War” included.
Granted, it had been the Sovereign’s decree that had allowed the existence of the Merchant Princes but those youthful fools had proven too greedy, too reckless and too easily manipulated by the more cunning puppet-masters of the Directorate. For the Fractured Concord had not doubt about this; it was the Directorate that had caused the incident, an attempt to undermine him and his mandate of “stability among humans in the area.” Well, he was not to be undermined and his mandate was not to be put in jeopardy. The barony of Enque had to be controlled, wrestled away from the clutches of the Directorate. The only question was how.
Choice
Employ the Mimetic Assassins: Two or three assassinations should prove enough: The Baron, the strongest opponent to his heir and, of course, the Merchant that danced to the rhythm of the Directorate. Influence over Enque will pass unto the Fractured Concord but the death of their puppet-Merchant may cause more direct confrontations with the Directorate.
“Did… did you see his face?”
The four young men laughed, almost hysterically.
“Halt! You three!” the hooded one said, mimicking the guard that had stopped them earlier and assuming the proper posture. The others followed his example. Or at least tried to. There was enough alcohol in their veins to make the task near impossible and the laughing kept getting in the way.
“And when you..?” said Philip. “And when you said ‘Touch me again and you’re dead, peasant’ and he saw your face! His expressions, oh Theos! Priceless!” Again the drunken laughter, echoing through the empty streets of Enque. Empty except the guards that now and then stopped them, only to apologize for inconveniencing the Baron’s bastard son.
“The man couldn’t even count” laughed Jerome, the Baron’s son. “You three!” he said. “You three when we’re clearly…” He they started pointing with one hand, his others’ fingers rising one by one, counting. “FOUR!” he exclaimed in the end, sending everyone to another bout of hysterical laughter, stumbling uncertainly. One of them grabbed another, pointing awkwardly to the alley leading left.
“Three!” Heinrich said in his rough accent, following them in the alley. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… WAIT!” He stopped, his precarious balance obvious. “We were three, weren’t we?” They all paused and looked at each other. Heinrich pointed to himself. “Heinrich” he said. His finger moved to the next. “Our illustrious leader, Jerome” then to the next “Philip” until finally he pointed to the fourth one, hesitantly.
“You three!” the guard’s voice echoed under the hood of the fourth one. The Jerome heard his own voice speak, as a shiver crawled up his spine.
“…you are dead.”
One down. Two to go.
The Mimmetic had performed admirably, the Fractured Concord thought, as he browsed lazily through the trinkets and coins it had brought back. Three young, drunken nobles murdered for their coin in the middle of the night, after they had dismissed a guard that could have escorted them home. That’s youth for you.
Admittedly, however, the young Jerome was the least problematic to remove. The remaining two possible targets would demand near flawless execution and, more importantly, careful thought.
Stupidity and foolishness were two different things and the Merchant Prince, the so-called Puppeteer – the Fractured Concord scoffed at the mere thought of the name – was a fool but was not stupid. Jerome’s removal had probably already alarmed him, perhaps enough to be more cautious. Removing the human baron would eliminate the Puppeteer’s most influential pawn from the equation but only confirm any existing suspicions. On the other hand, deleting the Puppeteer first, before ensuring his influence was limited and a clear message had been sent, would attract attention from within the Spires. That fool did have a license for his practice and the feedback from his removal would possibly reach even the Sovereign.
Choice
Delete the Merchant – The Sovereign giveth and the Sovereign taketh away. The Puppeteer had a license, true, but those with licenses should be reminded that their privileges should not be abused. The Sovereign, however, could very well decide the same for the Fractured Concord.
That was that, then. The Merchant Prince was to be removed and all details were arranged. Or almost all.
The removal of the Merchant Prince was dangerous before the matter of the Merchanting license was settled. Within a few short centuries, those Merchant Princes that acted legitimately had ensured that they had become a part of the fragile ecosystem of the Spires; both literally, by ensuring a constant influx of resources to the Spire itself, and figuratively, as in becoming an integral part of the delicate financial, social and political balances that kept a Spire standing. Had they not, they would have been removed long ago, either deliberately or by simply failing to survive; two very different things, as far as the refined high society of any Spire was considered. The difference was the reaction caused by their removal or rather its very mention. If one was removed, it would be discussed, investigated and gossiped about; a gap would be left. If one failed to survive, their memories faded faster than they were replaced. One’s such failure created a vacancy, not a gap.
Alas, despite the ridiculousness of the name considering the number of strings pulling at them, the Puppeteer would leave a gap, being an integral part of the Spire’s operations for the past five centuries. Just as well, the Fractured Concord figured, as the entire point of this enterprise was for the Merchant Prince to be removed because a point needed to be made. This was potentially dangerous, not physically – not for the Fractured Concord anyway – but politically which carried a more finite lethality. The Sovereign’s favor could only get one so far when the Sovereign was unwilling to publicly support one. Still, it needed to be done and the real question, the question that would ultimately decide the Concord’s fate, was that of the Puppeteer’s replacement.
In an ideal world, matters would be straightforward; to the victor go the spoils and after the Merchant Prince was removed, a successor of the Concord’s choosing take the License; one that would be partial to the interests of the Sovereign and the Lineages. This would be as strong a message to the Directorate as it would be a provocation. Things were bound to escalate. Alternatively, a weaker substitute could be found, one that the Directorate favored but who would not be as brazen as the Puppeteer had become. By no means a safe alternative, it was, nonetheless, as safer an option as it made a weaker point.
Choice
Pick a replacement that favors the Sovereign Lineages.
“Overseer?”
The puzzled look lasted but a moment, before the Puppeteer regained their composure, only to start chuckling.
“I admit, you had me for a moment,” the Puppeteer in the end. “Overseer Concord, I understand that matters… escalated beyond what any of us wanted for a moment. But they deescalated just as quickly. The matter is closed, the humans have been rearranged as necessary and as good fortune, no doubt, would have it, even some of the heirs of my counterpart in this transaction have been removed” he said meaningfully, before he went on. “This business with Enque is over. The humans themselves hardly remember the whole thing and even if they did they would be too afraid to do anything after our display.”
“You are right,” the Fractured Concord replied coldly. “The humans are afraid. They are not mystified, bewildered or in awe. They are afraid of an enemy they have seen and whose likes they have now met on the fields of Nepenthe. You know what that makes them, Puppeteer?”
He paused, enjoying the subtle efforts of the Merchant to keep a straight expression.
“It makes them volatile,” he finished. “It makes them aggressive. It makes them unstable. And my task is to keep both this Spire and the humans around it stable. You have disturbed my efforts on both my objectives. And that is why, as I said, you will be dead before this meeting is over.”
“And how would that dramatic turn of events take shape, Overseer Concord?” the Puppeteer asked, seemingly amused. “Will you produce some hidden blade, lunge at me and slit my throat? Surely do not doubt your battle prowess dwarf mine but…”
“Finality. It was served to you by your Clone this morning.”
The transformation did not start immediately, the amused look remaining frozen on the Puppeteer’s face for some time.
“No,” the Merchant said with a shake of the head in the end. “You wouldn’t. The Ark poison?” The amused chuckle returned for a moment. “You really expect me to believe that? Everyone would know that…”
“That was precisely the point. This is not a vendetta, this is not pettiness or vengeance. This is a message. Besides,” the Concord added casually “we both know you are immune to most poisons. Since this method was chosen, Finality was the only way to guarantee results.”
“If what you say is true,” the Puppeteer said after some thought, “although I still have my doubts… What would it take? For the cancellation of Finality, what would you want?”
“Nothing.” The answer came fast and flatly, leaving little room for negotiations. “You still think this is a game. There is an added satisfaction in that, I admit. But I assure you it is not. I am a military person, Puppeteer. I do not announce strategies. I execute. Often quite literally. Now, if we’re quite done, I will leave you to your last affairs.”
He got up, nodding curtly before turning to leave. The muscles of the Avatara were tense, ready to react to any last minute, desperate attempt by the Puppeteer. The Merchant was not a being of action but who knew what the prospect of death would do? Some cried and pleaded, regardless of status. Others…well, others were more idiotic but at least more direct.
“What happened in Enque was… Damn it, you do not know the pressure!” Ah, so pleading it was. “Haustellum is old, its roots dried and our Underspire overseers are exhausted and incompetent both. We needed the resources so I had to press for more. I was doing the Sovereign’s work. I still will, if you let me.”
“You have but moments.” he waved over his shoulder, back turned. “Goodbye, Puppeteer. What a ridiculous name you chose.”
“The Directorate have been investigating your condition,” he heard a shout from behind him. “They have… made things. I know them and I could share. Just give me the antidote.”
The Concord paused.
“Please…” the Puppeteer said. “I am not lying.”
Choice
Ignore him.
“The termination of the Puppeteer…”
“…is of no concern, consequence or importance,” he interrupted the clone. “This is the message I want to convey. I want to prepare the transfer of the license… nonchalantly. I want everyone to understand that it is the most casual and tedious of deeds. It is to be done with no haste and by observing the full extent of bureaucratic procedure. I want this to be a celebration of the tediousness of protocols that are in place for such matters and I want it understood by your manner that it holds equal importance to the filing of a report on Drone excrements. Are we understood?”
The clone bowed its head.
“And never use that word. Termination. The Puppeteer… expired. Yes, that is the word I want used. Expired. The Puppeteer’s uses were simply defunct and his services no longer required or desired.”
Bowing its head again, the clone turned to leave before he stopped it.
“One more thing,” he said, almost absentmindedly.
Choice
Arrange a series of contacts with the Director’s agents. I need to include them in the decision, smoothen things with the Directorate before I take any more action.
He had been, of course, reassured repeatedly that while some protested, it was the view of the most prominent and influential members of the Directorate that the expiration of the Puppeteer was a natural and necessary outcome. Cooperation and transparency were paramount for the future and a calm transition of power in the human lands would be to the benefit of the Spire. So, naturally, he had doubled all his guards, worked on evolving his fail-safes and reinforced his two most prized bodies’ security, while dangling another of them as a non-obvious bait. With those arranged, he looked over the Directorate’s suggestions, ignored most of them, but focused on their human candidates.
He had no doubt that any and all of them were already snuggly attached to the Directorate’s hooks, indifferent, too obvious in one direction or another and offered just to show some good will. A good sign but unneeded. There were, however, two interesting propositions.
Guillaume Elloir was allegedly one of the soon-to-be-expired Baron’s illegitimate sons and a connoisseur of substances, from fine wine to hallucinogenic mushrooms. They called him “the Peace Child” for, apparently, he had no taste for war or violence, considered it mankind’s self-imposed disease or something of that sort. A prime candidate, at face value, for peace is exactly what was needed right now. But this affinity to substances left a lot of room for drastic changes in character in the future and the Directorate had the best to offer to such individuals; things they had never even known existed on this world. Should that prove the case, however, how hard would it be for neighbors – chosen by the Fractured Concord – to decide that peace is nice and all but owing more land is nicer? Hmmm…
The second was a very interesting suggestion he admitted, one he could consider as a true peace offering: Ellaine de l’ Enque – he found the musicality of the name ridiculous – was the oldest of the Baron’s legitimate daughters and, supposedly, an impressive female human. She was the de facto commander of the Baron’s forces, beloved by her warriors, admired by her peers and despised by the Baron and his heir. She was notoriously uncontrollable, was supposedly the sole reason her father was still in power – mainly because her competence in most matters overshadowed her older brothers’ – and she had spotted and repelled all his attempts to place agents near her. She was religious enough to be liked by the local superstitions but not devout enough for that to become an influence. Her sex would be an issue, as apparently Enque paid heed to such matters, but some mind-broadening shouldn’t prove too difficult and lost, ancient documents could be manufactured with some ease. Unless the Directorate had succeeded where he had not – which was doubtful – she was a “let humans be humans for a while” choice. Or, of course, a “let the best man win” one.
Choice
Ellaine de l’Enque.
Assistant Director Scheduled Serendipity was perhaps as much of a curiosity as the Fractured Concord was, and the words of the expired Puppeteer hung ominously over him. “The Directorate have been investigating your condition,” the pitiful dying man had said. “They have… made things.” If the desperate voice rang any truth, then the Fractured Concord had no doubt that Serendipity would be behind such tasks.
“On behalf of the Director, Overseer, we fully accept and endorse the choice of Ellaine de L’Enque.” She smiled at him warmly and her sharpened teeth almost sparkled in their unnatural whiteness before she spoke again. “What a ridiculous name, won’t you agree?” Her left eye glittered, a clear pool of violet, seductive and playful, but the right one’s iris was an ominous red disk floating in a black pool and torn in the middle by an even darker vertical iris. That eye never smiled, no matter what the rest of the face did.
It was a beautiful face. No. It was perfect. And he knew she had not meddled with it in the least. She never had had to. If anything, she had sharpened her teeth and changed her eye. Some said that she did not want her natural beauty to tip the scales in her favor, wishing to ascend the ranks solely based on merit. Others simply claimed she was mad. Others still that she believed she was adding to her beauty. He agreed with all of them. She was maddened beast which bared its teeth at every opportunity; one you could not help but stare, even as you knew the threat it possessed.
“Before ever measuring the merits of the choice, this was my first thought, I must admit,” he said. “But names, much like appearances, can be deceiving. She was the best choice.”
“The Director shares your views,” she said. “There were, however, voices that argued that putting a warrior queen on the throne is not very prudent considering the tensions with the humans.”
“To suggest that a barony’s military might could challenge us is not only idiotic and unbecoming of your intelligence, Assistant Director,” he said flatly, “it is also insulting to me personally as Military Overseer.”
“My dear Overseer,” she commented hurriedly, “the only thing in question is the predictability of human responses. They are such fickle and sentimental creatures.”
“Which is why she was the perfect choice. As a military woman, she is less prone to those and I can understand her better,” he said flatly and she remained silent, drawing back like a puppy scolded, too strong of a reaction to hold any truth. “Besides,” he went on, “the human antagonist of the idiot of Nepenthe, this Fredrik, has been isolated. It has been seen to. I am confident that whatever fate befalls him, it will serve the will of the Sovereign.”
“Of course,” she muttered, but while the reply smelled of reverence, the hint of sarcasm ever so slightly dressed the words.
“The humans must be allowed to forget the Enque incident. This Elaine offers that. Let them mull over the fact they will be ruled by a female and dance around their laws and traditions for a while.”
“The Director agrees wholeheartedly, Overseer,” she said with an earnest voice. “He also offers to relieve you of the trivialities of such matters. Let us make the necessary arrangements for her to ascend, allowing you to focus on the needs of Haustellum.”
Choice
Accept – The Directorate will arrange the ascension of Elaine de L’Enque to the barony. This may give an edge to the Directorate in their influence over the new ruler but the Fractured Concord may have better control over matters inside the Spire.
“I welcome the Director’s offer,” he said, nodding courtly. “All this unpleasantness along with the lackluster performance of certain individuals has unnecessarily diverted my attention. It must be turned once more to the matters of Haustellum and the preparation of its forces.”
“Of course,” Scheduled Serendipity smiled, understanding and subservience emanating from her body like the sun radiated light. She had to know it was too much, he thought. She had to know he would be suspicious. Which was, of course, effective. The obviousness of the bluff challenged the validity of any double-bluff scenario. Admitting being thrown off-balance and second guessing both her true motives and his own situation, the Fractured Concord could not but admire her.
“If there is any way we can assist in your efforts, Overseer,” she added suavely, “I have been empowered by the Director to facilitate your efforts by any means you may deem necessary.” He did not need his blocked receptors to sense her suggestion. “As long, of course, as they do not challenge the Directorate’s control over operations.”
“Of course,” he said dryly then allowed himself a pause by sipping his drink. Hers was not the question he felt the need to answer. The only real question was what he wanted to do.
He could continue this dance with the Directorate. There were risks, but not greater than the ones he would be taking if he let them unobserved. So far, he had been forced to crush chitin with them only in his attempts to regulate their misdemeanors, always after the damage was done; which, he suspected, would happen again sooner or later. It was tiresome but safe for the smoother operation of the Spire, as it kept the balance between the Sovereign’s Lineages and the Directorate. Politics had never been his strong suit, but perhaps he should try and involve himself more with the day-to-day operations usually falling under the jurisdiction of the Directorate.
On the other hand, this could shake things too much and he had already showcased how fast and decisively he was ready to intervene if things went under at any given point. He had it on good authority that, only a couple of days ago, the Director himself had described him as a Brute in a vat-room, punching through the fragile designs of others without hesitation or remorse. A somewhat unfair perception, he believed, one however he welcomed. He would be the first to admit his faults in that department were plenty but he was not as clueless as the description presented him to be. If his antagonists failed to see them and preferred to be intimidated by his readiness to act, all the better. He could capitalize on this, turning his attention once more to military matters; all the while showing them just how hard the Brute could punch if need be.
Putting his drink down, he leaned forward, his grey, near lifeless eyes, looking grimly into her mismatched ones.
Choice
Return the offer.
“I would welcome a return to my military duties, my dear Assistant Director,” he said calmly, starring straight into her eyes. “Seeing, however, that all this unpleasantness has been put behind us, we can but hope that our coordinated efforts will bear the desired fruit and that the Enque incident will be finally put behind us.” He paused for a moment, offered a pleasant smile, before he leaned back and sat comfortably once more. “As such,” he went on, “the only outstanding issue is to ensure that research and production rates resume satisfactory levels and if I can be of help to that, I would gladly offer my assistance.”
If she was rattled, surprised or annoyed, she did not show it. She instead returned the pleasant smile almost eagerly.
“That is, I think, a splendid idea, Overseer,” she said with eyes brightening so much, so invitingly that he had to suppress a thoughtful frown. Luckily – well, luck had had nothing to do with it, really – this particular Avatara was bluntly tuned to his emotions, tailored to such social situations. Unless an emotion truly overwhelmed him, he had near impeccable control over his own expressions. This, however, did not necessarily extend to mannerisms or nervous body movements but military discipline was all he needed for those, surely. Resisting the urge to reach for his glass, he instead turned his head amusedly to the side, while his mind raced.
“Splendid, Assistant Director?” he asked with a smile.
“Oh, indeed,” she replied, as eagerly as before if not more. “As much as it pains me to admit it, production rates have fallen, as you have surely noticed in the reports. No doubt, the failings of our previous Merchant Prince, coupled with the incompetence of our idling Pheromancers, were to blame for this and not anyone in the Directorate. As such, the changes we have brought forth are bound to have a positive effect. Still, one cannot but wonder if, indeed, a more drastic change would yield more favorable results for all. Your unique point of view, your practical, military mindset, could certainly be the catalyst in such a change.”
He reached for his glass, mind racing. This was too obvious to be true. It had to be a trap. Or had it? Scheduled Serendipity was renowned for her ambition, having trampled over her competition – often more experienced and more socially accepted – for the position of Assistant Director; and she had done so making it seem almost effortless. Going after a Director’s seat, possibly even her own sponsor’s, would not be out of character and if he ended up being the one that put her there… That would serve him to no end and, therefore, the Sovereign.
However, it would also not be out of character for her to offer the Military Overseer to her sponsor on a platter, offering proof about his involvement and portraying him as instigator of conflict between the Sovereign’s Lineages and the Directorate. If he failed to play his cards right – or, he admitted, if she played them better than him – then this could hurt the Sovereign himself. The Fractured Concord feared neither her nor the Directorate; but the thought of the Sovereign’s displeasure paralyzed him.
Choice
I would gladly authorize the activation of more regiments and clone overseers to assist in production – The Fractured Concord will protect himself and not attempt to play the Scheduled Serendipity’s games.
No, he thought, suppressing the urge to shake his head at his own thoughts. Tempting as it was, he could not be dragged into the Directorate’s games. Let them kill each other off, for all he cared, but if the wetted blade belonged to one assigned as Military Overseer by the Sovereign himself, that could ripple throughout the Spires. He would not play Serendipity’s game – but he could make her play his.
“Indeed, dear Assistant Director,” he said, trying hard to retain a passive tone and not underline the ‘Assistant’ as he so longed to do. “I would not want to step on the Directorate’s toes when it comes to the operations of Haustellum but I do find your idea inspired. I am ready to authorize the activation of military forces to assist with the necessary changes. Drones and, indeed clones, as necessary.” He went on, discussing numbers, types of troops. He was extravagant at first, knowing they had to barter for some time before they reached an agreement. She played her part perfectly, responding with astute commends that portrayed a deeper knowledge of the military matters than he, perhaps, expected but in the end, it mattered little, and his mind was half elsewhere. He was about to provoke her, he knew. The warm, honest smile she offered him when they agreed on necessary numbers made it all the more satisfying.
“Oh, but I am delighted to hear it, Overseer!” she exclaimed, pouring some more bloodwine in her glass and motioning an offer to top his. “The Board, I am sure, will be pleasantly surprised by your generosity.”
Offering his glass to be filled anew, he held her miscolored eyes, smiling pleasantly.
“I am sure you understand,” he said, “that this is not standard procedure. My proposal will require the agreement of the Board.”
“Of course,” she replied. “Luckily, however, I am already authorized to grant such an approval.” She lifted her glass towards him. “The Board graciously accepts your offer, Military Overseer, and approves of your proposal to activate the aforementioned Reclamation Forces to assist in production.”
He smiled. She was being sloppy and it was not intentional. Whether her ambition was blinding her or her intelligence was underestimating his own knowledge of the game, the end result was the same. The moment he would crush her dreams was fast approaching. Offering his glass in return, the two glasses met with a gentle cling.
“It is agreed,” they said smiling at each other.
“Excellent,” he said, as he fell comfortably back on his chair once more. “I am glad it is settled. This will signify a new era for Haustellum, Assistant Director, I am sure. The new reports will be to the Sovereign’s satisfaction, I am sure.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Although,” she sighed dramatically, “ideally, the command of some of the troops should also be assigned to a member of the Directorate. I am sure you understand, it would ease the most suspicious minds to do so.”
“Of course,” he said. “I shall, of course, retain command of half of the troops, as is proper.”
“Of course,” she replied, “it is agreed.”
“As for the rest,” he said leaning forward and not even his tailored Avatara could contain the urge to express the twisted satisfaction in his smile, as he leaned forward. Only now, he thought as he looked at her red eye flaring. Only now does she understand that my next words will decide her future.
“Command of the troops shall fall to….”
Choice
… the Directorate. – A vague assignment that will probe the Directorate to an internal struggle for control over the troops. If she manages to fight the Directorate for them, good for her, but he could never be blamed for colluding.
“Command of the troops shall fall to the Directorate.”
Scheduled Serendipity offered a reserved smile. My, but this was entertaining, the Fractured Concord thought. She feared what his words meant but she still hoped.
“Of course, Overseer,” she said, “and as representative of the Directorate, I will ensure that…” she paused, her eyes flaring with hatred, even if but for a moment, as he motioned defensively to interrupt her.
“My dear Assistant Director, I cannot presume to interfere with the details of the Spire’s operations and the Directorate’s jurisdiction,” he said with a pleasant, amused smile. “I am merely eager to assist in its efforts and I believe the numbers and types of troops we have discussed will be more than enough in the Directorate’s more than sufficient hands.”
“Of course,” she said with a courtly nod. “One would not want to forge new tensions where there are none,” she added.
“No, no,” he answered, picking up his wine. “I simply believe one must know the extents of one’s reach. Only the fools, the lucky and the very skillful can grab beyond that. In time, we all find out which we are.” He smiled again, raising his glass towards her before taking a sip.
“This was an extremely pleasant afternoon. Thank you, Assistant Director. I am eager to see the fruits of our labors, this day. Good evening.”
She left with little more than what etiquette required. Good. He would have hated to see her break character any more than she had. As he watched her live, his lips painted red by the rich bloodwine, he wondered how she would take his decision; a challenge? A taunt? Mockery? If she was anything like what a Director should be, she would take it as it was: a play against the Directorate and an invitation for her to prove her worth. If not… Oh, well, there were plenty of candidates for the Directorate. Eventually, one would be worth the trouble.
Gulping down the last of his wine before getting up, he wondered how the bickering of the Directorate would divide the troops among them.
((EXPLANATION: THE RESULTING PERCENTAGES WILL DICTATE THE PERCENTAGE OF THE TROOPS ASSIGNED TO EACH OPTION. THE OVERALL RESULT WILL INFLUENCE THE STORYLINE OF THE FRACTURED CONCORD))
Choice
24.90% – Assistant Director Scheduled Serendipity.
18.27% – Director Arrant Vicissitude.
26.51% – Director Equivocal Excellence.
30.32% – The Board.
Punctilious Abstraction was the most ignored attendant of the Board’s assemblies.
He made no comment – made barely even a sound in fact – as he meticulously took minutes during meeting. He complied without hesitation when Director Equivocal Excellence motioned absentmindedly for him to stop, when the truly interesting discussion was held. Staying blind, deaf and mute to the rest of the world, he never flinched even as the conversation around him got heated. He kept staring expectantly at his Director, as Arrant Vicissitude tried to carve his claim for nearly half of the assigned troops until, in the end, the Board was appeased by his Scheduled Serendipity being given control of most of that percentage. He ignored the faithful Assistant Director’s protests as much as he did her surprised modesty for the Board’s trust. Only when Equivocal Excellence motioned for him to resume keeping minutes, only then did Punctilious Abstraction move again, eager to fulfill his Director’s wishes.
If anyone ever spared a thought on him, therefore, what they would say would be that, as a clone, he was a sorry excuse of one. But as a servant he was exactly what he had been designed to be: quiet, dependent, consistent, and limited in his capacities. So much so, in fact, that all past attempts at bribery had been met with a blank stare of miscomprehension. The single-mindedness of his entire life could only be paralleled to the existence of drones. After decades of servitude, Equivocal Excellence’s assistant had finally turned into the equivalent of a pet at best, or, more frequently, background furniture.
So, when the Fractured Concord followed the Director out of the meeting hall wearing the exact replica of his body – minutes in his hand, awkward walk, semi-blank stare, all performed perfectly after years of study – he felt confident that no one could have ever suspected that the true meeting was only about to begin – and that the Director would not be alive by the end of it. Not the board members, not the clones and biomancers that walked around, feverishly paying their respects to the Director as he walked past them indifferent to their flattery, not even Director Equivocal Excellence himself. No one.
Not even the Sovereign.
One can only imagine, therefore, the Fractured Concord’s surprise when the replica body of Punctilious Abstraction was stabbed the moment they stepped into the Director’s office.
The perfect façade he had kept broke in an instant, as the body’s eyes widened in shock and fear. Unable to control the body’s collapse, he failed to turn and face his assailant, instead forced to stare as the Director simply kept walking towards his study, paying no more attention to his imminent destruction than he did to all the sycophants he had ignored along the corridors of the Directorate’s halls. Instinct propelled him to scream for help, but that, at least, he held back, despite the cold, mind-numbing pain and horror that consumed his thoughts.
It was not an unfamiliar feeling, of course, being stabbed. Multiple of his bodies had experienced it. What was shocking, what was TERRIFYING him – was the void his mind was plunging rapidly towards, as critical bodily functions were shutting down one after the other.
“I do hope we are right,” the Director said as he sat behind his desk. “Punctilious Abstraction would be extremely hard to replace.” Someone simply grunted somewhere behind him before the Director went on.
“Field trial #1,” he said. “Encouraging first symptoms, as fear and pain remain obvious on the body of the replica, suggesting that the subject, if present, cannot move consciousness. Further notes upon termination.”
He could only see the legs behind the desk now, his mouth making soft sounds as his torso spasmed slightly now and then. But while his body was shutting down, his mind was raging. He could not feel the floor. He could not breathe, feeling he was suffocating constantly. Colors had faded and light was following fast, the edges of his vision darkening more and more by the moment. Much like the clone he was acting like, he was turning blind, deaf, mute… a piece of furniture in the background. A useless rug on the floor. And in that, like an animal trapped in a cage, his mind screamed and raged against the bars that trapped him in this failing body.
“Oh, if you are there, Overseer,” came distant and distorted the Director’s voice once more “and somehow survive, do return my clone to me, if you would be so kind. Good help is so hard to produce.”
Then, nothingness fell and his mind had to endure it.
* * *