Nothing Beside Remains

One year passed, and she was here again. She recognised the limestone pillars and sculpted facade of the Hall of the Union through the tinted windows, and thought how many more times she'd have to do this. Year after year, the two dozen members came to this Hall and drafted their laws away from the prying eyes of journalists and the influences of the public. Year after year, a useless tug-of-war with six ropes, no one party getting what they wanted.

The Mediator is a neutral party, she remembered. It is their duty to remain level in crisis. It is their duty to to guide Unidos through the flames.

The chauffeur opened her door, and he helped her out of the car. She had done this for thirty years now, and she bore the weight of those years on her shoulders. There was a nagging pain in her hip she should probably pay attention to, but that wasn't the primary concern now.

Through the vast wooden doors, and into the main chamber. Just beyond that wall would be the main Hall, the centre stage for all lawsuits made against the central government, the amphitheatre where all the televised footage took place. It always amazed her how the public could believe that the Council, with its small board of people, would bother to use the hundreds of seats of the main room. It certainly played into the grandiose patriotism of the Union, the fantasies built on no foundation. She turned right, down an altogether less showy corridor, and took the second door to the left.

Now here, behind closed doors, was where Unidos schemed. The faces of the Directors met her, acknowledged her, and went back to their papers. They sat around a large circular table, bounded by wooden walls (a little tacky, for her taste); she took the seat at the head of the table, opposite the door. Time to get started.

'All members present. The Council is in session.'

Let's get going, she thought. 'Please raise your issues in the order previously agreed.'

The man two seats to her left, the Director of Adica, shifted in his seat. Whoever it was that was charged with the sorry role of repairing that city, they'd been asking the same question for so many years that they must have agreed to get it over with before they got onto the real debate. 'The Directorate of Adica requests - as usual - the payment of 500 million LUS from the Directorates of Isidor and Emenera as reparations for the capital and lives lost in the Iron War.'

'The table is open.' But nobody spoke.

'Cast your votes.' The table turned their attention to the buttons on the desk. But this was a special case, and only two cities were required to vote - the donors of the money. The results appeared on a small LED screen in front of her. Two abstaining.

'The vote is closed. Motion failed. Please raise the next issue.'

Next, the Director of Mina, Juman Khammar, spoke up. 'The Directorate of Mina requests that both dialects of the Issarian language are recognised by central government. Three tenths of this nation waits for the validation of their mother tongue.'

'The table is open.'

The Director of Iperion, Sansa Rif, started at once. 'You know our stance, Khammar. The language of Unidos is the uniting language of all cultures.'

'Yes, and the fact that Corellia spoke it already is of no consequence to you. As always, the north coast dodges its way out of hard work while we are made to bear your burdens. It is easy for you to stand by in an ivory tower, but you should remember that the streets are not so far from your office.'

'Nevertheless, it remains that Unidolian is the majority language of most of the nation.' She doesn't deny any of it, the Mediator found herself thinking.

'And it is unacceptable that you are content with a mere majority. I will not rest until all this nation's people are represented by our government.'

'Well, we all know that's your problem,' another man laughed. The Director of Escaton leaned forward to participate. 'Perhaps some sleep would do you good.' This time the whole table laughed, leaving Khammar fuming.

'Are we done here? Then cast your votes.' The Mediator did not sit well with needless posturing.

The numbers flashed, counting higher as the Director pressed their buttons. Ten for. Five abstaining. And... eight against. Better luck next time, Khammar.

'The vote is closed. Motion failed. Next issue?'

'That would be me again,' the Director replied. 'Mina requests also that the unifying flag of the nation bears only four stars, to properly represent the four regions of the nation.'

'The table is open.'

'This is trivial,' the Director of Carion interrupted. She found, even while keeping her mind fit for the role of the Mediator, that he was a distinctly loud and unlikable man.

'Perhaps to you, but again, this does not affect you. It is easy to take for granted what you have, Aúlet.'

'I said - next - issue.'

'If there is no objection, very well,' the Mediator said. 'Please keep your composure, Director. Cast your votes.'

She hadn't expected this one to go through, and as the results came in, she was proved right. A sweeping majority for dropping the issue all round.

'The vote is closed. Motion failed. Next issue.'

And they weren't even onto the important matters yet. She could tell already that this was going to be a long one.

Half an hour in, and she could tell she was losing the attention of some of the more absent-minded Directors. They maintained their composure, for sure, but glazed eyes and slack hands were the body language of a person whose mind was somewhere else entirely. This next issue should get them focused, if the schedule was anything to go by.

'Next issue?'

The Director of Peris, Nadal Castallet, spoke for the first time. 'Yes. The general public requests that the election cycle of Directors be lowered to once every four years.' And, looking around, she noted that everyone was now somewhat worried.

'The table is open.'

'I have just one question,' Aúlet asked, 'Why?'

'Beats me,' Castallet admitted. 'This is how the public wills it.'

'And are we going to bend to all the opinions of the public?'

'I believe that is democracy, Aúlet. Though of course, a man who has ruled for twenty years need not concern himself with that.'

'The Directors will refrain from aggressing their opponents,' the Mediator reminded them, steel in her voice. 'Cast your votes.'

As the results came in, the vast majority ruling against, she wondered why he'd bothered.

'The vote is closed. Motion failed.' And instead of continuing with the normal, she pulled a paper from the file in front of her. 'Here's an issue requested directly to central government,' she stated. 'The public in the commune of Iperion-71 would like the minimum term limit of Representatives to be raised to one year. They feel that in the current system, candidates cannot stay long enough to make a difference.'

She could already feel a sort of hostility in the room. Iperion-71, informally known as 'The Cross' since it mostly covered two motorways, was what the more liberal Directors would refer to as a 'commune in need of development', and what the more conservative Directors would refer to as a 'hellhole'. The area consisted almost entirely of dated social housing, and was like flypaper for people down on their fortunes - you could barely find a more anti-establishment population anywhere else. She knew that the real reason nobody made a difference was because they simply didn't care, but it wouldn't hurt to give them this comfort either.

'The table is open.'

'This is simply unnecessary,' Aúlet said.

'Not to be blunt,' Castallet talked over him, 'but this does not concern Carion. Your opinion will be better reserved for where it is useful - that is, at your godforsaken rallies.'

'Director,' the Mediator interrupted, 'If you cannot reserve your own speech, I am afraid I will have to bar you from speaking in any capacity. And I think we have heard enough of Aúlet for now.'

'Speaking of whose issue this is,' Rif said, 'we have already made our stance on the Cross perfectly clear. We have implemented a steady system of welfare for the local populace which should help them with the most poignant of their problems.'

'Oh, yes?' Khammar mused. 'And when will they start receiving it?'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Director.'

'I'm sure you do.'

'Cast your votes,' the Mediator said, 'not your insults.'

This should be interesting, she thought. How would the Council react to the needs of an impoverished region? As the the votes came in, it became apparent that their response was entirely predictable. It quickly came to a total of 6 for, 10 abstaining, 7 against.

'The vote is closed. Motion failed. Next issue?'

'This should suffice,' the man opposite her announced. 'The Directorate of Fatidra calls for the redistribution of Directorates according to their population, instead of their historical influence.'

'The table is open.' So was the motive. It was plain to see that, as a side effect of the remapping, they'd have to add new Directorates to fill the gaps left by trimming down the old ones. And fortunately for him, all in the liberal urban regions. She was having trouble remembering her duty.

By this time, it was simply easier for her to mentally block out whatever it was the Director of Carion was shouting about now. Right now, it could have been about the moral stipulations of forgetting their heritage or something, but she could have copied and pasted in one of his lesser-known political speeches and it wouldn't really have mattered. All he really ever did was dodge around the far more inflammatory point he was trying to make -

The Mediator is a neutral party.

Yes. Right. 'Cast your votes,' she shouted over the argument, 'and keep calm for just one damned minute!'

The results came in. There looked to be quite an even split here. Perhaps all this noise was evident of a shift in thinking for the Council? Could she have that much faith in these people? The numbers stopped climbing. 10 for, 1 abstaining, 11 against.

'Okay. Who hasn't voted?' The Director of Escaton looked guilty. 'Get to it, Catola.'

The display flickered: 11 for. Now this was a situation she hadn't encountered in a while. Now it was down to her.

The standard procedure for the Mediator was to simply pass the vote ahead, regardless of the content. This was what 'neutrality' supposedly involved. But she couldn't shake an anxious feeling, something suggesting that the Directors were all a little more defensive than they'd been last year, a little more wary. Something was changing, and she couldn't define what.

'The vote is closed. Motion passed.' She knew her duty.

'I will need your attention for just one more issue. The central government has received a request for an alteration to the election procedure of Directors - that is to say, the elections of the Directors and Representatives should be merged so that the Directors are elected by possessing a majority of Representatives in their Directorate.'

She framed the words 'The table is open,' but the table exploded into argument before she got it out.

'Like hell they will!'

'You can't just throw the Union into chaos like that - '

'What will become of the Council?'

'Surely you do not fear for your jobs?' Khammar smiled.

'You know that's not what this is about,' the Director of Acilia cried. 'The Council would flounder while Directors are swapped out like cards in a deck!'

'So you admit that the Representatives suffer the same problem?'

'That's - ' the Director spluttered to a halt. 'Is this a game to you, Khammar?'

'Director, I have never known a politician not to play to win.' He continued to grin at the sight of the Directors wildly gesticulating at each other.

'Let's get this over with,' the Mediator shouted over the noise. 'Cast your votes! We can have this conversation after we're done here!'

The Directors fell into silence, and this time, the numbers climbed far more slowly. Each Director looked to be weighing up all the possible outcomes of their vote. It was refreshing to see them think for once, and not just press the button according to their alliances.

Finally, the numbers stopped. 8 for, 3 abstaining, 11 against. Closer than she'd expected. 'The vote is closed. Motion failed. The Council is adjourned.'

She relaxed, though not completely. As the others filed out of the room, deep in conversation, she couldn't help thinking they'd set a ball rolling here.

As usual, the actual formalities of the law had taken far longer to play out than the suggestions. The Directors did not write the laws themselves - that was the job of the person who suggested them - but they were accustomed to check nevertheless, making sure no loopholes that did not benefit them could go into law. It was a mostly efficient process that could be guaranteed to take only as long as they had the patience to sift through thousands of sheets of paper.

Afterwards, however, they got to enjoy the holy city of Azarel. The Mediator sat in front of an ornate limestone fountain dating from the 1500s, listening to the sounds of the water and the passers-by, watching the sun set in the waters. She could have been indistinguishable from any old washerwoman in a headscarf.

Mariu Aúlet found her, though.

'Care to talk a minute?' he asked, not caring for the answer and taking a seat next to her.

'What is it that you want, Director?' His speech was more regulated, more honeyed now. He would never dare to address her in the tone he really wanted to use.

'A simple thing, really. I'm sure you noticed, during the meeting, the behaviour of our comrades. Some of them can be most unpleasant, you know. Quite an obstruction of justice.'

'You want them to... be nicer... to you?'

'Wouldn't it be nice? But that is not what I am here for, no. I would like to propose that we meet sometime and have a look at something I've been planning. Without the, ah, distraction of our colleagues.'

'I'll consider it,' she replied, noting in her head never to consider it again.

'Now, hang on.' He wasn't going to be deterred. 'I want your assurance on this matter. Surely it is your duty to consider the views of all parties?'

'I know my duty, Aúlet.' She lifted herself to her feet, and left him sitting on the bench. An obvious grasp for her preference or her bias, that she would not answer. But she feared that once she knew what was going on, it would be too late to act.

Spring fell on the tiled terrace of the caiúléta, and with it, the first of the desert heat. That was why Juman Khammar was waiting at a dusty table tucked well inside, untouched by the fairy lights strung over the bar or the soft jazz playing over the speakers. He should have scheduled an hour later, and taken the midday rest out of the searching rays of the sun, but business forbade him such luxury.

Another man pulled up a seat next to him. An onlooker would've noticed that although Khammar appeared unperturbed, he eased his own chair away from him.

'Marhaban, Ilia. How goes the day?'

'The same as any other,' he grumbled. 'This place never seems to bring anything new. Time stopped in the 20's here.'

'Can you blame them, though? After all that's happened?'

'Cassal certainly would.'

Khammar shook the comment off. 'It is not ideal, no. But Cassal is the crossroads, the key. We will find - and indeed we already do find - greater support than we could have expected. They already suspect that the Corellians are not their liberators after all.'

'So it is everywhere,' Ilia nodded. 'The monarch becomes the banker, the people their commodity.'

'You know how it is,' Khammar smiled, though he made a note to keep the man's more radical ideas out of the public eye. 'We must show them how the both of us suffer under Iperion's yoke.' He waved for quiet as a waitress approached the table.

'Will you be drinking?'

'Of course.'

'Do you do cranberry juice?' Ilia asked.

'Only the caiúl, sir.'

'I'll try some.' The waitress took their orders, and left them.

'What are you, Ilia, a tourist? Surely you must know what to expect by now.'

'Every time I come in here, you know. Every time I hope they serve something other than that swill, and every time my hopes are dashed.'

'I can sympathise. They call the words of politicians honeyed, and yet I become more bitter with each lie.'

'And what about you? Are you not a politician?'

'My job is not to enforce my will upon the people, however. That is for the vipers of Azarel. My job is to enforce the will of the people.' Khammar liked to think he was a people's person. A fair few of those people disagreed, quite vocally. 'But we must not become bitter, Ilia. We leave Adica tomorrow. We must remember that all this will come to pass, one day.'

'I'll say,' he sighed as the waitress returned with their glasses. 'All this should never have been.'

They raised their glasses at the pervading heat of the sun. 'Serásela,' Khammar murmured, as Ilia visibly winced. 'Serásela.'

In a more sterile, air-conditioned world, Mariu Aúlet was in his element. Over the years, he'd found the administrative work of the office far more quietly rewarding than fruitless labour that would never be recognised, and now he was the master of his environment. An acclaimed economist first and a politician more recently (as read the preface of his biography), he claimed he could predict the movements of politics more accurately than the experts who were paid to do it.

There was a knock on his door.

'Aveni!'

Another suited man entered the room, and took the seat opposite Aúlet's desk when he gestured.

'I'll keep this quick,' he said. 'You know what I'm here for. I just need to run some things through with you, and then we can confirm.'

'Go ahead,' he spread his arms wide.

'Let's see. To start with, I need to verify that you're sure that you can operate with this few people.'

'No doubt about it. I trust you guys to get it done.'

'Yes, but two people?'

'I don't want to raise suspicion. You of all people would understand, right?'

'Fine. And, I must inform you, preparing on such short notice has not given us the opportunity to get a person into the organisation- '

'I can't know what everyone is going to do,' he interrupted.

'That is apparent. However, we were able to gather this information,' the suited man told him, giving him a thin manila envelope.

'Is that all?' Aúlet asked.

'As I said, you have given us... competitive constraints to work in. And now, we must come to the cost.'

'As we agreed?'

'Half before, half when we're done.'

Aúlet tore a page out of a chequebook and filled it out, leaving a barely legible signature.

'For our sakes, I hope you're successful.'

For now, the crowd milling around Cassal's Court of Justice looked just like any other midday rush. Tourists would sometimes pose against the historic architecture, suited people would flit in and out of the entrances on their jobs, or else people crossed the tiled square on the way from one point to another. Zain el-Jabour watched the movements of the whole body from the steps on the other side of the square.

Here was a man with no loyalties, and he prided himself for it. Causes would rise and fall, and they would always need someone to do the busywork. If he could be that person, be in the right place at the right time, that was all he needed. And sat beside him was another man who simply called himself Tomas. He'd have to trust him, for now.

'Soon, Tomas, they will find their ways here. All roads lead to Tibur.'

'Which one?'

He was waiting, in fact, for Juman Khammar. The man brought a following with him wherever he went, larger as he won over more of the disenfranchised. And if that was what he was banking on, Cassal would be the tipping point. This city had weathered the perfect storm of warfare, migrating industries, and changeable politics for its people to become notoriously distrustful of the status quo.

The crowd was growing thicker, he noticed, and noisier. Perhaps there was a chant rising? He scanned the crowds for a sign, some sort of shared signal that the crowd would take as the cue to elevate the situation.

There it was. A car, edging its way across the square as fast as people could step out of the way. And behind the window, the man himself. Zain stepped up, and lost himself in the crowd.

It took him just a minute to push his way through the thickening crowd; by the time he'd reached his position, around the left face of the building, Khammar had already reached the top of the steps leading up to the doors. A perfect frame for the speech: Khammar, delivering justice at the Court of Justice. He was so predictable.

'In position.'

'Copy. Police also present - three vans, more expected.'

'All subjects in position. Proceed.'

Zain glanced up at the building. Second window to the left, on the ground floor. It was wide open, so Tomas' visit to the Court this morning had clearly done its job.

He had met with the contractor just yesterday. Zain was reliable and efficient, which was probably why the contractor had chosen him to carry out the event with only one day of planning time. He had given him just one, very specific, instruction. Do not kill Khammar. Simply create an event which is attention-grabbing, violent, and most importantly of all, feasible with civilian resources.

So here was the answer. In his hand he cradled a bottle, filled with what a pedestrian might mistake for alcohol. But what they would find in here, if they chose to drink out of it, was a sealed package of magnesium powder, floating on top of a lethal combination of crude oil, ammonium nitrate, and common gasoline.

'...this year marks the ninety-ninth year of the subjugation of Cassal. Will Corellia finally make up for a century of domination? Are they embarrassed of their past? Or... are they proud?'

Riling words for a receptive audience. Zain just wanted him to get to the point. He had a pressing appointment this afternoon with a troubled businessman, and he needed to set up the venue before he got there.

'...remember that we are not powerless. For the whole unconstrained power of the ocean is made only of small droplets. When democracy fails, the people must take their rule into their own hands.'

That's not how water works, Zain found himself thinking.

'Al Nala ótái!'

'Al Nala ótái!' the crowd rallied.

Oh, right. The signal. The physics of water could wait. He lit a three second fuse; this would have to be timed perfectly, or else these shouting protesters would be silenced in a rather unorthodox fashion. And, partially to protect his eyes, but also for the look of things, he put on sunglasses fitted with welding glass.

He lobbed the cocktail at the window.

The flash came first - blinding white, all-consuming. The crowd fell silent as they reflexively looked for the source.

Which meant that the whole world was watching when the Court of Justice exploded.

She hadn't expected to be back in the meeting room so soon.

When she'd received the emergency summons, on her phone no less, she'd been waiting in a private jet about to leave the island. People get irritated when the schedule has to stop because the person flying wants to abort three seconds before the plane taxis to takeoff. But she was sure it was greatly inconvenient to be killed by an incendiary bomb, too.

'All members present. The Council is in session. Please raise your issues in the - ah.' Different order. Muscle memory had got the better of her. 'Excuse me. The table is open for discussion immediately.'

Juman Khammar rushed to speak. 'The Directorate of Mina, and my party, offer their deepest condolences.'

'Thank you, Khammar. May we have information on the situation?'

The Director of Cassal spoke. 'So, to sum up. Our authorities are not treating the incident as a terrorist attack. Surveillance footage reveals the perpetrator as a man of average height, but has no more detail - the same footage also reveals an anomalous bright flash just before the explosion, which leads our investigators to believe that the incident is some sort of demonstration. Police response to the incident was not only unable to catch the perpetrator, but also sparked civil... disobedience which continued for fifteen minutes until riot control arrived. The explosive has been identified as an ANFO mixture, which should hopefully give us a paper trail. We should have a lead on the situation by tomorrow.'

'Is this everything?' He nodded. 'Thank you. Standard procedure is suggested. Close all major ports until required otherwise. Implement emergency security at all major airports. Institute enforced security at motorway tolls and land borders. The table is open for discussion.'

'There's something else,' the Director continued. 'The Directorate of Cassal requests the investigation of Juman Khammar, pertaining to the incident, and the protocol of suspension will therefore be necessary.'

The table buzzed. But Khammar himself didn't seem to mind.

'You have no objection?' she asked him.

'Of course not. I'm confident the authorities will find no issues with me, and I assure you, this will not obstruct my duties.'

'Is that so?' This was one of the only issues the Mediator was given direct control over. The Directors, each with their own motives, couldn't be trusted to vote on the issue (even though, she thought, the Mediator was not infallible either). 'Then the Council calls for the suspension of the Director of Mina until further notice.'

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Another round of paperwork later, the Mediator found herself in the atrium of the Hall.

'A moment, if you please?'

She briefly considered walking out of the building and taking a plane right back to Radagora. 'What do you want, Aúlet?'

'Last time, I believe I presented you with an opportunity to cooperate. Now all this has come to be, I believe the material I possess is of greater relevance than ever. Would you mediate on it?'

If that was a pun, she didn't think much of it. 'I'll consider your proposition.'

Unfortunately, they just took an empty meeting room in the Hall. The Mediator felt like covert work should be performed in some public location, hiding in plain sight. Then again, politics was never as dramatic as she'd dreamed it could be. Most of the world's more important changes seemed to be signed in surrounded by tacky potted plants.

'Let's see what you have, Aúlet. And remember - I might decide, let's say, that the withholding of any information is treason.'

'That was not my intention, Mediator.' This was probably his business voice, even if it had a strange growling quality, as if he were constantly clearing his throat. Maybe that was why he shouted all the time. 'I will let you draw your conclusions.' He unpackaged a sheaf of paper from his suitcase, spreading it over the table. Some of the material was dark blue - building plans - and the rest appeared legal in nature.

'What have you dragged me into here?'

'My associates mentioned a paper trail. As it happens, I've done my own intelligence on this situation. It paints quite an interesting picture.'

'Do tell.'

'The ANFO mixture did, in fact, lead me onto an unusual incident. Three bags of ammonium nitrate fertiliser vanished from a nearby gardening centre just days before the incident. Authorities conducted their usual investigations, and the search gave them the fingerprints of a "Zain el-Jabour". A search of this man's property couldn't find him, but they did find the bags, and a host of equipment no doubt used for the preparation of the explosive.'

'Okay. So we have a perpetrator.' She didn't doubt for a second that Aúlet had found all this information using his own medium, but elected to see where this went.

'That's not all. A copy of these plans were withdrawn from Cassal's Court of Justice at the same time by a man whose name cannot be found on national registries. However, the parallel investigation into el-Jabour leads us to believe the man could be an associate of his called "Tomas", though that probably isn't his real name either.'

'I don't see what this second man has to do with anything.'

'He's the most interesting part. I was led onto this train of thought in the first place when a transaction using my banking services was flagged. The money originates from a shell company based in Lake Aliona, received by this same "Tomas". It appears to have been a corporate donation of some kind, judging from context. You'll never guess who the recipient was.'

'Don't waste my time with games. Just tell me.'

'Nala Rising.'

If it was true, if the information could be verified, it was a death knell for Khammar. If it could be proved that the man staged a terrorist attack for his own political gain, it would be end of his political career. But it all seemed too convenient. Aúlet knew far too much for his own good, he would be far too eager to push for the arrest of his most ideologically juxtaposed opponent, and it was all too soon after the incident. He couldn't have found this out without skirting legality - or worse - having prior knowledge.

'A bold claim, Aúlet.' She wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. Everything would be done properly, and most importantly, according to her own laws. 'We'll see if they can track down either of these suspects immediately. Perhaps they can verify your ideas.'

'I would not leave Khammar free to leave, either, especially when he could be the... crux of this investigation. No citizen is above the law, remember.'

'I remember, Director. I would not discard the laws I swore to protect to promote your brand of justice. It is all too easy to make monsters of men, I fear.'