The Road to the Coast

[Pelasgia]

Melissia, Polity of Anaktora, Caria
28/03/2022 | 12:00

A soft spring breeze blew over the rugged slope of the White Mountains, whose snowy peaks separated Caria from its eastern neighbours. It was cool, almost cold, but that was a welcome relief from the scorching heat of the Carian sun, which had already started to burn as the month of March neared its end. The pines, olive trees, and fruit-bearing trees lining the slope shook. The flags flying above the handful of stone-built villages scattered on the mountainside, which grew larger and more numerous as the distance from the sea declined, waved in unison. The fires burning over church candles flickered. Yet, other than that, life went on. Life always went on in inland Caria, much as it had for the last three thousand years. In these lands, it was often said, the latest news was the arrival of Christianity; and even that had hardly changed the locals' habits.

Kostas lied calmly on his back, enjoying the combined warmth of noon on a mid-spring day, and the cool shade of the trees. Somewhere afar, the bees of the beehives that had given his native town of Melissia its name buzzed around. Further still, the vague, distant bleat of sheep sounded. Through it all, however, Kostas could not hear a thing. A thing except-

"Kostas!" shouted the familiar voice of Giorgos, Kostas' younger brother, whose characteristic running had shaken the ground and crushed fallen branches for some ten minutes before finally reaching the young Melissian's secluded refuge. "Kostas!"

"What is it, Giorgos?" Kostas said with a sigh.

"What are you doing here?" Giorgos demanded. "The train to Anaktora departs at four."

"I'm aware," Kostas replied. The two boys' train was to take them to Anaktora--from where the older brother would head south, to Nauplia, and the younger north, to Nikaia, to serve out their national service. National, in Kostas' case, because his scientific skills would exempt him from ordinary military service in exchange for two years of research in the employ of the state; and military in Giorgos' case, because he would be posted to some military base near the border for a couple of years, just like any other Carian young adult. If he were lucky, that would be somewhere south (after basic training in Nikaia of course)--though not too far south, lest Giorgos end up on the highly militarised faraway island of Hagios Georgios, which was the object of perpetual border disputes and skirmishes between Caria and Red Pelasgia. "Anyway," Kostas continued, "what's the rush? We have four hours and the train station's only thirty minutes away by foot."

Giorgos shook his head, annoyed with his brother's perpetual forgetfulness. "Eleni!" he exclaimed. "Eleni's invited us over to her place to cook for us to wish us goodbye. Her sister, Katerina, is also trying out a new desert."

Kostas gulped. Katerina's desert he could do without, but Eleni and her sibling had been like family to him and Giorgos since childhood. Their parents, after all, were good friends, being all among the oldest families in the town and among the few with a university education. Mr. Panagiotis, Eleni and Katerina's father, had taught the two boys half the math they knew...

"Oh!!" Kostas exclaimed, jumping up and shoving his brother aside. "Let's go! We have no time to lose!"

Giorgos, brushing off the dirt his brother's impact had left on his shirt, growled. "Wait for me, you fool! You're the one who was late!"

"Well, we'll see about that!" Kostas shouted back at his brother. Once again, the chase between the brotherly duo was on.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Melissia, Polity of Anaktora, Caria
28/03/2022 | 12:30

“If you ask me,” Eleni said, “It’s not entirely fair that you get to go and continue your research on the public dime, while Giorgios has to off to some hinterland guard post, Kostas.” She followed with refilling the wine in Kostas’ glass.

Kostas’ groaned and took a bite of the lamb chops his friend had prepared. “That’s rich coming from you, Eleni. You only need to do the same thing you’d be doing anyway for two more years.”

“I’ll have to be a livestock vet in some faraway village which barely has power,” Eleni replied. “You’ll be in an office in Nauplia! And anyway, I’m a woman—it’s not like you can expect me to charge at Pelasgian marines with a bayonet. You, on the other hand, are a man. I’m just saying it’s not fair that you should get off easier than a woman, while your brother has to dig trenches on the White Mountains—or, heaven forbid, Hagios Georgios Island.”

“You worry too much, Eleni,” Giorgos replied, as he scooped the last remains of the traditional village salad from the bowl at the centre of the table into his plate. “Most military duty these days is cleaning latrines or peeling potatoes—by comparison, training for border skirmishes is fun. And anyway, they only really send people who volunteer to Hagios Georgios, unless there’s a big shortage that year.”

“Why would someone volunteer to go to Hagios Georgios of all places?” Katerina wondered out loud after downing the rest of her wine. “I mean, at least the White Mountains have scenic views—how many coastal Carians have seen snow and wolves in their lives before? But Hagios Georgios is a dry rock whose sole attraction is a very old church and all sorts of nasty snakes and scorpions.”

“You get paid to be on Hagios Georgios,” Giorgos pointed out. “You get paid to be in the army in general, though for us conscripts it’s peanuts—maybe 1200 lepta* a week? But on Hagios Georgios, you’re off the mainland on an ‘expeditionary force’ deployment, so they pay you around 36,000** lepta a week. For us it might not seem like much, but for poorer folks who’re wasting two years of work in the army, it’s an easy way to make up for it—since the army covers all their living expenses anyway.”
*Slightly less than 10 euromarks. Lepta is the plural of lepton, the Carian currency.
**Around 290 euromarks. The average monthly wage in Caria is 515,000 lepta (or 128,750 lepta per week).

Katerina placed the top of her fork in her mouth. “Hmm, when you put it like that… that should be enough to pay for the rent of most people’s family and some living expenses.”

“In my department, they give you discretionary research funding,” Kostas announced, practically beaming with pride.

Eleni was quick to slam him over the head with the wooden salad spoon. “You damn fool! That’s exactly my point! You get paid to look at test tubes or whatever all day, on top walking around in that fancy Royal Army Medical Corps uniform, while your brother is paid a slave’s wage.”

“It’s really alright,” Giorgos said, giving Katerina an opening to calmly take the spoon away from her sister. “I’ve always thought about joining the army, so we’ll see if it’s for me. And another funny idea I’ve fancied from time to time is becoming a sailor or a diplomat, so, if they do ship me to Hagios Georgios, we’ll see whether being away from home is for me.”

“Maybe you can be the first Carian Ambassador to the scorpions and snakes of Hagios Georgios,” Kostas quipped, rubbing his head at the spot where Eleni struck it. “Maybe you can bring a couple back for our friends here.”

“Ewww!” Eleni cried out. “That’s disgusting.”

“At any rate,” Giorgos interjected, hoping to prevent another fight. “I don’t see any alternative to the National Service system. Caria is getting older by the day, while the Pelasgians and the Eastern Germanians are only getting more numerous and more unstable—just recently, I saw a report on Pannonian refugee caravans trying to cross the northern border. Their lines stretched out for miles!”

“Must be sad,” Katerina said somberly. “Having to pack everything you own and head to some foreign place where nobody likes you and you don’t speak the language… I hear the Zarans and the Bourdignians might also start heading south too.”

“All that aside,” Kostas posited. “The National Service is not just about the army or the borders. Because Caria is getting older, we’re having shortages of everything: doctors, nurses, social workers, scientists—even livestock vets, like Eleni Spoon-warrior over here. Without it, I’m not sure our country could survive.”

Eleni placed her fork and knife together at the four-o’clock position, to show that she was done with her meal, as if some invisible waiter was watching. “Personally, I think it’s important that we give back to society. Caria offers us free education, healthcare, and a great living standard—it’s only fair that we do our part for the social whole.”

Kostas scoffed audibly. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you still think that when you’re elbow deep in cow manure and horse menstrual fluids.”

Eleni seized the salad spoon and began assaulting Kostas with it anew. “We’re at the table, you filthy dog! Didn’t Mr. Nikos and Mrs. Aspasia teach you any manners? I’ll do it for them then!”

Sighing, Katerina grabbed Giorgos by the arm and started for the kitchen. “Come on, leave them to it. I made some desert, and you should try it while it’s still fresh.”

“What did you make?” Giorgos asked with apprehension—Katerina’s deserts where notorious for either being extremely good or nearly inedible, depending on the recipe.

“Kastanopita*,” Katerina responded with resignation—it was one of her rare but guaranteed hits.
*A traditional Carian chestnut pie, usually made with sweet syrup.

“Oh, let’s go!” Giorgos exclaimed, running ahead into the kitchen. “Thank you, by the way—you can try making something more experimental for us when we’re back.”

Katerina smiled and blushed slightly. “I’ll be glad to.” It would only be two years; and, besides, they would probably be allowed to come back on leave every now and then, especially on major holidays.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Anaktora City, Polity of Anaktora, Caria
28/03/2022 | 17:00

The metal behemoth linking the fertile inland of Anaktora, Caria's wealthiest state, with the coastal capital that was the polity's namesake slowed down as it entered the city's main railway station. Inside steel and glass structure that formed the station, a host of other trains awaited their arrival and departure. The largest, by far, was the high speed rail linking the entire Carian coast, from north to south; upon seeing that all-white bullet train with its blue stripes, Giorgos already knew that he had to head to it.

"They should make it red, since it's so fast," Giorgos joked.

"It's a federal train," Kostas responded, as if oblivious to the joke. "Red would maybe suit a regional train in Malvasia."

Giorgos sighed and looked at his brother, only to see him removing his coat to reveal a t-shirt in tan and teal the colours of the prestigious University of Anaktora --the home of Caria's oldest and most important medical school and Kostas' own alma mater. "Do you not own any other t-shirts, Kostas? You're always wearing that whenever we have to travel somewhere."

"Now you just sound like Eleni," Kostas answered, checking his pockets to verify that he still had his proper paperwork with him. From his left pocket he produced a folded copy of a Letter of Appointment by the King's Privy Council, whereby Konstantinos Panagiotou Mastronikos (Kostas' full name) was appointed to the Royal Research Institute and made a Captain in the Royal Army Medical Service, in exchange for continuing his biomedical research in the state's employ.

"It's funny," Giorgos commented. "Our father was a doctor and hers an engineer, and yet she became a vet."

"And her parents were engineers, while ours were a doctor and a pharmacist," Kostas answered, "Yet, out of all four of us, you're the only one who became an engineer. Katerina became a teacher, and I don't think we've ever even had an engineer in our family before."

Giorgos shrugged and lifted the large backpack where he had put his clothes and other belongings for the long trip to his unit. "I enjoyed the math and physics lessons Mr. Panagiotis, Eleni and Katerina's father, gave us when we were younger. Maybe Eleni became a vet for a similar reason."

Kostas frowned, following his brother to the line for the All-Carian High Speed Rail (or PASYVE), the train they were connecting to. "I don't recall our father giving Eleni biology lessons."

"No," Giorgos said, as he handed his ticket and ID to the railway company official at the end of the line. "But you did. Or did you forget all those times she asked you to help her study for exams?"

Kostas blushed--he had long liked Eleni, but had always been to ashamed to tell anyone, even his own brother. "But if it was obvious enough for Giorgos, who's hardly a ladies' man, to notice," he thought, blushing even more, "then she too..."

"Are you going to fulfill your national service?" the official asked the two young lads. The railway official was a stereotypical Carian: around 170 cm, olive-skinned, and with soft features, apart from a strong jawline and wide shoulders. He was dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Royal Carian Railway Company (VAKES), a federal state corporation as denoted by the crown on the official's cap.

"Yes," Giorgos said, handing the railway company employee a letter ordering him to report for duty at the Military Training Centre in Nikaia by the end of the month.

"As for me," Kostas said, before even being addressed, "I have to go in the opposite direction--to Nauplia." He handed his own letter and ID to the official, who double checked it, along with Kostas' ID.

"You're... 23?" the man in the blue uniform asked. "When did you enter medical school?"

"Sixteen," Kostas answered, masking a slight hint of pride under the sheer tiredness of having to always answer the same question. "I got a special scholarship from the Crown."

The official stared at Kostas for a moment, examining his shirt and the polity of origin listed on the boys' ID cards. Carians, as was well known, were rather hospitable to foreign visitors, but they particularly disliked people from different Carian regions; it was for this reason that the polities acted almost as local branches of the federal government, all the while closely guarding their powers and polities against individual neighbouring polities--"Carians only form an independent nation because they dislike foreigner conquerors slightly more than they dislike each other," as the semi-serious saying went. Having verified that the apparent prodigy before him was indeed from Anaktora (even if merely from an inland town and not the city state's coastal capital), the railway employee smiled and gave the two young men back their papers with an air of satisfaction. "Have a good day, gentlemen. The next PASYVE to Nikaia departs in 30 minutes, while the one to Nauplia departs in 10. Next!"

"We don't have much time," Giorgos pointed out. His eye caught the letter in Kostas' hand, and his mind flew back to when his older brother had first gotten his special scholarship from the Crown to study medicine in Anaktora. As university in Caria was next to free, the scholarship was more helpful in that it allowed the gifted 16 year-old a chance to skip a few years of secondary school--admittedly a bet, but a successful one, given how Kostas had excelled at the best medical school Caria had to offer. It was only natural that the Kingdom would seek to make use of his abilities afterward; and though Giorgos and everyone around Kostas had been proud of him, even if it meant they would see less of him, it was the two boys' father, Dr. Apostolis Mastronikos, a physician himself, who had been the most saddened by the news. He had worked in the Crown's service in Nauplia many years ago, before leaving the rich coastline for a humble life as a local doctor in a small town in the heartland of rural Caria, the inland of Anaktora--and though he had never told his sons why, it was clear that he feared Kostas would mimic his life.

"Yeah, we don't," Kostas replied, putting the letter back into his pocket as soon as he noticed Giorgos' gaze. "I'll buy you a snack for the road," he noted, pausing beside a small semi-automated kiosk containing all sorts of candy and other packaged local snacks, ranging from assorted nuts to dried figs.

"Using that discretionary funding, eh?" Giorgos joked as he selected a box of small

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pieces--a Pelasgian desert that had become wildly popular in Caria since its crossing the pond in the 1920s.

"Research funding," Kostas corrected him with a hint of laughter in his own voice. "We have to research the innovations made in the field of pastry by our Pelasgian neighbours in this case." The two boys laughter masked great nervousness and even slight grief, for they had spent practically their whole lives together, having been the most cordial and closely knit brothers in their small town by general admission. With their father and mother being always busy due to oftentimes being the only pair of medical professionals in town, the two siblings had practically raised each other. The longest they had been apart was when Kostas had left for university in Anaktora; Giorgos, himself a year younger, had done his best to be granted early admission to Anaktora Polytechnic just to be with his brother. He had succeeded and made it in at 17, just a couple of years later--though he had certainly not been nearly as prodigious a student as Kostas.

"Who knows," Giorgos thought out loud. "Maybe the Royal Army Medical Corps and the Royal Engineers will work together sometime soon--maybe I'll get posted near Nauplia."

"Maybe," Kostas responded. "If nothing else, I'll see you back home for Easter--and then for August 15*."
*The Feast of the Dormition, one of the most important in Caria and Pelasgia, and likely linked to pre-Christian festivities honouring Athena.

"Hopefully we'll be able to get leave for Saint John the Baptist's, to jump around fires with Eleni and Katerina and the others," Giorgos answered. His words brought back images of the traditional Carian midsummer festivities the boys had parttaken in every June 24, when everyone in the town would gather around bonfires with dance, song, food and drink. By tradition, random pairs of boys and girls would jump over the fire together, thus allegedly choosing who they would marry years later.

His eyes full of recollection, Kostas could not help but smile. "I will for sure. Now, as for you... do your best. No trouble-making, you hear me?"

"We both know I'm not the worry about on that count," Giorgos commented. The two brothers embraced, just as a voice on the loudspeaker calmly notified them that the PASYVE to Nauplia would be departing momentarily. With that, Kostas waived his brother goodbye and run onto the train, baggage in hand. By the end of the hour, he would be in Nauplia--and his brother Giorgos would be on his way to the army training centre in Nikaia, near the northern edge of the country. For the first time in almost four years, they would be living in completely different places--hopefully only for a short time.​

 

[Pelasgia]

Nauplia, Polity of Naupliotica, Caria
07/04/2022 | 08:00

A hundred cars raced through Vasileos Ioannou I Notara avenue, the jam-packed thoroughfare that bore the name of the first King of Caria and cut through the downtown of the Carian capital’s city centre. Sprinkled through the traffic were taxis—painted grey as was customary in the Meridian Sea nation—a sight that, as a small-town lad, Kostas was unused to. Finally, after much honking and roaring, the light changed and traffic ceased; then, the pedestrian light turned green, and a veritable host of pedestrians, several hundred-strong at least, started crossing one of Nauplia’s busiest intersections.

Around him, Kostas perceived a mix of modern and neoclassical buildings, all dutifully maintained and displaying far too many signs for the eye to perceive. This being Dexameni, the affluent part of downtown Nauplia between the government quarter and the business district, Kostas could perceive the silhouettes of both: to the south, at the edge of the city, the old fortress of Acronauplia that still housed the Royal Palace towered above; to the north, beyond the historic city with its neoclassical edifices, the elongated figures of modern glass-and-steel skyscrapers dominated the horizon.

How the residents of coastal Caria’s major cities could put up with such disharmony, Kostas could never understand. What concerned him more, at the moment, was finding the way to his workplace—he was challenging himself to not use his phone, so as to get better acquainted with the peculiar geography of this metropolis, built over a period of 7000 years. A turn here, straight for two blocks to the east, passing by this kiosk and- Failing to mind his step as he examined street signs, Kostas bumped into a passerby.

“Ouch!” cried a feminine voice. A tall woman with olive skin and bright blue eyes had fallen to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Kostas said, helping the woman back to her feet. Her all-white lab coat was wet, for Kostas had pushed her into a pond of water from the previous day’s rainfall.

“You ought to mind where you’re going,” the woman said, verifying just how wet and dirty her coat had gotten. Once she turned her attention to Kostas, she scanned him head to toe, and, upon examining his uniform, a light bulb lit up in her head. “You’re not from Nauplia are you? Are you here to do your service?”

The young doctor from inland Anaktora Polity nodded yes to both questions, nearly blushing with embarrassment, as if something shameful about him had been found out. “I uhm…”

“Are you looking for something then?” the young woman asked, before realising that she sounded far too confrontational and correcting herself. “I mean, are you lost?”

“Well, I- I’m trying to find the Royal Research Institute.” Kostas pointed to the insignia on his tunic’s lapel: a snake coiled around a rod (the "

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"), symbolising the Royal Medical Corps.

“Oh, I see. It’s just on the next street—turn right, and it should be the third building. It’s hard to miss: it’s larger than every other building on the street, it’s guarded by a sentry, and it has a flag for good measure.”

Kostas nodded again. “Thank you. Do you work there?”

The woman looked down at her coat and then back up at Kostas, smiling awkwardly. “Who, me? Why- no.” Laughing, she pointed at the building right behind her—a pharmacy, as indicated by the large green sign with the same symbol as on Kostas’ uniform. “I’m a pharmacist—Athina Kostourou of Kostouros & Co. Pharmacists, est. 1899, at your service.”

“Ah, nice to meet you,” Kostas said, before realising that he probably ought to introduce himself. “Dr. Kostas Mastronikos, Captain of the Royal Medical Corps. I'm from Melissia, Anaktora in the White Mountains.” Suddenly, Kostas felt a bolt of fear go through him and looked down at his watch. “Uh oh, I really need to go! But thank you and sorry for the accident! I’ll see you around for sure.”

Waving him goodbye, Athina Kostourou answered with a smile. “No worries at all, welcome to Nauplia! Make sure to stop by if you need any medication or directions.”

“Will do!” Kostas cried back at her as he sprinting away. Turning right as directed, he made his way to the third building—a massive edifice of white marble, built in the simplified neoclassical style that was so much in favour with government architects. It was, in essence, a modern building with a few decorative elements that made it fit in with its older surroundings. Without stopping to admire the size of the Royal Research Institute's façade, Kostas showed his card to the sentry and cleared security after entering the building through the doubled-armoured glass gate.

“Captain Mastronikos?” said a tall man, who was waiting right behind the security checkpoint. He was dressed in a khaki uniform with a major’s insignia, which Kostas scarcely noticed as he observed his interlocutor: the light from a lamp shined off the Major’s clean-shaven, bald head, while his massive shoulders gave the impression that a mountain was obstructing the hallway.

“Yes,” Kostas answered with hesitation, as if he did not know his own name.

“I’m Major Koutalianos, your immediate superior,” the giant retorted impassionately. “You’re precisely on time. Please try to be slightly early next time—security sometimes slows you down.”

“Yes, sir,” Kostas answered, still stunned by the sheer size of the pale man opposite him, who was almost two meters tall in a country where most men did not even reach 180 cm. Almost a moment too late, he remembered to salute.

Major Koutalianos scanned Kostas’ uniform for crease or fault, before concluding that the young man had at least learned to put on his khaki properly during new recruit orientation training. “Right then, follow me. We are to meet with the officer in charge of the research project you will be working on: Colonel Vasilopoulos.”

Kostas followed the hulking behemoth of an officer—a native of the far northern city of Leopolis judging by his accent—through the Institute’s sterile hallways. “Sir,” he inquired timidly. “Could you tell me anything about what I will be working on?”

“I cannot,” Major Koutalianos answered. “But I’m sure that the Colonel will be more than glad to answer any questions you might have—within reasonable limits, of course.”​

 

[Pelasgia]

Akritai Border Outpost, Polity of Leontis, Caria
11/04/2022 | 06:00

Giorgos sighed deeply. Of the many things that he had expected upon leaving his home to serve the Homeland, being almost knee-deep in mud on the country’s triple border with Serbovia and the Rheinbund was not one of them.

“It’s been raining all damn week!” Aristotelis Neolkeus, a friend of Giorgos from Anaktora, complained. “Who thought it would be a good idea to reinforce the border in this weather?”

“Quiet, or the Lieutenant will hear you!” Iraklis Romaleos, a strong, wide-shouldered native of Navarone barked at him.

Giorgos recalled the fear he felt upon being told that he was being transferred to a frontier base for on-the-field specialist training barely a week after arriving in Nikaia. “I was so relieved to find out that I was being sent to Leontis instead of Hagios Georgios,” he pondered out loud. “If only I’d known that I’d end up at the edge of the world, more wet than a duck.”

The man leading the three Officer Designates’* march a few paces ahead, Second Lieutenant Petros Glafkidis, held up his pale hand, halting the column. He turned around, his hazel green eyes piercing the three men—he must have heard. “Mastronikos,” he said, calling out Giorgos by his last name. “Which way is hill 151-B?”
*The rank of Officer Designate is a conscript rank equivalent to a professional Warrant Officer. It is granted to conscripts who qualify for an officer role while they undergo specialist training. Once their training is complete, the soldiers are commissioned as Second Lieutenants, with an obligatory reservist role after their service is over.

Giorgos quickly pulled out his topographical map in its waterproof case and examined it for landmarks matching those of the landscape around him. His eyes scanning the small plateau atop the White Mountains’ northern part, until he picked up an old guard post, which lent the nearby village its name of “Akritai” (meaning “frontier guards”). He pointed to it and answered his superior. “That way, sir.”

Glafkidis removed his cap to fix his thick reddish-brown hair, and then, speaking in his typical Malvasian aristocratic manner and flawless standard accent, motioned the unit ahead. “Right then. Romaleos and Neolkeus, you take Section 2 and oversee the works west of the old post! Mastronikos, you’re with me and Section 1! We’re overseeing the works on the east.”

Giorgos had feared precisely that division of labour—the western side of the border faced toward the Rheinbund, a peaceable and friendly country; the eastern half, on the other hand, faced Serbovia, a land of foggy internal politics and a long, complex history of border clashes with Caria. Moreover, @Serbovia was the main reason for the works the unit was currently undertaking.

Pointing at the map, Glafkidis shouted to be heard over the howling wind. “We need to reinforce this sector with proper fencing. The previous unit set up concertina wire and concrete barriers to temporarily block the passage, but those won’t hold if there’s another storm like yesterday’s—not unless we can convince the Gendarmes to come out here in the rain and mud again.”

“Understood, sir!” Giorgos shouted back. “But do we have enough time until the rain starts again?”

Glafkidis shrugged. “No choice, Second Lieutenant: we’ll work overnight if we have to. The rain is supposed to restart tomorrow in the evening.”

Giorgos gritted his teeth and saluted, before running forward to observe the works of the soldiers below him. Already, the other conscripts (those who were without any tertiary education making them suited to a specialised role) were unloading fencing from the trucks and preparing to set it up. Giorgos directed them around for a few moments, before raising his sleeves and joining in the effort. “The work needs to be done by tomorrow evening!” he shouted at them. “Put your backs into it, and I’ll make sure the Lieutenant gets us a good meal.”

Thrasyvoulos, a perpetually whining miner’s son from the far southern city of Thoricus, cracked a joke, hoping the wind would drown it out. “Maybe a trip to the nearby brothel would also help.”

“What for, private?” Giorgos joked at him. “I thought you lot down in Thoricus preferred the company of boys, or so your philosophers said.”

The troops laughed as they raised a pair of pylons to support a wall of barbed wire. Thus they continued working for hours and hours, fencing up the frontier, under the watchful eye of First Lieutenant Glafkidis. Then, suddenly, as the wind died down, Giorgos looked to the edge of the basin, and saw a mass of people, around a hundred or so. He ran to Glafkidis to notify him, but the latter was already looking there.

“They’re here,” Glafkidis exclaimed.

“Who?” Giorgos asked.

Glafkidis took off his cap to fix his hair again. “The people we’re making these fences to keep out.”

As the mass of people approached, Giorgos looked more closely and saw arrayed before him the human wrecks produced by the war in ex-Pannonia: a mother holding her child in a blanket, herself dressed in rags; a father alone with his two daughters, one of them with a broken arm; an elderly man supported by a single mother and two young boys; and, finally, two lads about the age of Giorgos and his brother Kostas—one missing an arm, and the other an eye. At that last sight he felt a shiver go through his spine. “Pannonians?” he asked, as if he did not know the answer.

“Yes,” Glafkidis answered. “Csengians, Zarans, Bourdignians… They trekked all the way here through Serbovia’s border regions. If they venture any further into the country, the Serbovian police might think they’re immigrating there and treat them accordingly. On our end, there’s a processing station near the main road a few kilometers away—but many aren’t allowed in, so they try their chance through the mountains instead.”

Giorgos looked at his superior and then back at the refugees. “They walked here in this weather? All the way from Pannonia?”

“Where else do they have to go?” an annoyed Glafkidis answered. “We’re Catholic—mostly—and we’re as far away from their homeland as it gets. They probably think we’ll be as welcoming as @Radilo, but we’ve only taken in a hundred and forty thousand or so—just enough to cover some labour shortages.”

“I doubt making it in would do them much,” Giorgos responded. “Tall and pale as they are, I doubt they could pass for Carians. They’ll always be treated as strangers here.”

“Being a stranger is better than being dead,” Glafkidis shot back. He took out his notebook and scribbled something in it quickly—Giorgos suspected him to be poet of sorts, though he had not dared to ask.

“Poor sods,” Giorgos commented, before returning to his work.

Glafkidis put away his notebook. “Yeah.”​

 

[Pelasgia]

Nauplia, Polity of Naupliotica, Caria
13/04/2022 | 09:30

A line of cigarette smoke rose through the pristine white interior of the conference room. The marble floor reflected the figures of five men sat around a table, while the large blue windows looked out into the city and bay of Nauplia, whose silhouette was illuminated by the morning sun.

Iakovos Daskalidis, a dark olive-skinned man with a skinny face and a prominent aquiline nose, let out a puff of smoke before addressing his colleagues. “As Chairman of the Daskalidis Group, I have to note that the latest escalation around Hagios Georgios does not serve our interests at all,” he said, putting out his cigarette. “All over some insignificant rock.”

“The Government has promised us a significant share of profits from oil and natural gas extraction,” answered Kyriakos, his son. He was like him, but paler, taller, and with softer features, as well as beautiful sky-blue eyes—all traits inherited from his mother. Unfortunately, he had also inherited her mediocre mind.

Thales Michalopoulos, Daskalidis’ oldest associate, waved his hand annoyedly. “Prime Minister Kalamaras has promised the same to every Omilos* in Caria—and that’s assuming that gas and petroleum deposits worth extracting are even found there. Nothing of the sort has happened yet, despite years of surveying.”
*The Omiloi (sing. Omilos) or “Groups”/“Associations” are the major corporate conglomerates that dominate Caria’s economy. Often covering multiple sectors at once, they are generally run by a single family or clan, working closely with the government in keeping with Caria’s de facto corporatist system.

“Prime Minister Kalamaras is hanging on for dear life,” Daskalidis said, motioning at the room’s attendant to take empty his ashtray. The beautiful, buxom woman, dressed in a long white dress reminiscent of an ancient peplos, obliged and gave a slight bow. Daskalidis turned to the bald, pale figure of Thrasyvoulos Isaakopoulos—the half-Pelasgian lawyer who was his most trusted political advisor.

“His party’s establishment is upset with him,” Isaakopoulos answered, nodding calmly. “His economic programmes haven’t worked, and now his initiative regarding immigration is upsetting the populace and giving ammunition to the Anastasios Germanos and the opposition. It’s not even generous enough to at least bring down labour costs for us, so we don’t have his back either.” He paused, fixing his eyes on the Daskalidis family crest, which was etched into the wall behind the Chairman: a golden lion on a white and blue shield. “The Omiloi might not run Caria as the leftists would like to think, but we can certainly pull our weight—and this escalation is definitely going to hurt our profits.”

Michalopoulos rubbed his chin. “Enough to justify our involvement?”

All eyes shifted to the grey man with the spectacles at the back of the table. “Depending on the degree of escalation,” started Grigoris Psilakis, the CFO, “trade routes to our largest buyers and suppliers could be significantly affected. As it is, the escalation only serves to make markets a bit more skeptical—but if an all our shooting war were to occur in the White Archipelago, so close to the Propontine Straits…”

The woman returned with a new ashtray, and Daskalidis thanked her with a slight gesture. He made a mental note to tip her a few thousand lepta after the meeting was done, and then stretched his shoulders. “That’s settled then,” he proclaimed loudly. “Michalopoulos, call the other Omiloi. Isaakopoulos, contact your people in the Constitutional Democratic Party… and all parties, for that matter. Kyriakos, you talk to our media subsidiaries. I want 24/7 panic about how the Pelasgians are being provoked into invading Hagios Georgios, and how we stand no chance in an all-out war. If Kalamaras wants to flex his new Frankish toys, we’ll bring him down before he brings down the global economy.”

“If this was Pelasgia, they’d have our heads,” Isaakopoulos commented, rubbing the back of his neck.

“In Pelasgia, we wouldn’t privately own a refinery, let alone media,” Daskalidis answered, leaning back into his chair. “God bless the free market—and let’s just hope those idiots in Propontis don’t do anything too rush.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much, sir,” Isaakopoulos said, checking his phone. “They, too, have major stakeholders keeping whoever is in power in line—it’s just that theirs prefer uniforms over suits.” A notification popped up on his phone: PROPONTIS: Urgent politburo meeting convened over Hagios Georgios escalation.

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Melissia, Polity of Anaktora, Caria
13/04/2022 | 13:10

Katerina stared anxiously at her phone. A text from Kostas figured on the device’s screen, and with every second that passed, Katerina’s face morphed into more an more of a desperate grimace as she re-read time and time again.

“Giorgos called me from a landline and said that he’s been transferred to another base,” Katerina whispered, reading the message out in a low voice. “He couldn’t say where, but the number was from Thoricus, not Nikaia, so he’s probably being shipped south. I’ll keep you up to date.”

Katerina hardly even noticed the school bell ringing when her thoughts were interrupted by a sweet, high-pitched voice.

“Ms. Nikolakopoulou!” asked Markos, one of Katerina’s students. “Where is Hagios Georgios?”

As if shot with an arrow, Katerina looked up in shock, before collecting herself and turning to the large map of Caria, Pelasgia, and the surrounding region at the front of the class. “Here,” she said, pointing to an almost circular island right off the coast of Pelasgia.

“Hmmm,” Markos reflected. “It’s a bit too small to have a war on, don’t you think?”​