Machinations

[Ashkelon]

OFFICE OF THE CHAIRMAN OF THE FBS, FEDERAL BUREAU OF SECURITY
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-3-1952

Hanusz carefully assessed the man standing in front of his desk, reading the reports on the situation in Nowy Tomysi. Hanusz was a seasoned spy hunter, who rose through the ranks of the Bureau through sheer skill and cunning. He was not one of the Veterans, but had already been around during the time of the glorious Steel Revolution as a young teen who listened closely on the situation. He had seen the rise of the Union through young eyes, eyes that reflected in them a certain optimism, even today. He had also seen many, many things.

"Well, Sir, what do you think?"

Benedykt Stukow finished calmly leafing through the report and closed the folder with a sense of finality. "A very interesting read. My initial impression is that you are handling the situation to the best of your ability. If the bill passes, you should be allowed even greater control over it. Is that not right?"

"It is, Sir."

"The motivation for this bill is quite valid, based on what we have here." Stukow waved the folder for emphasis. "Support for Communism in the Southeast is on another rise, perhaps in relation to the situation in Boliatur. I'm very glad that you do your job so well."

"Why, thank you, Sir." Hanusz had seen many, many things during his service in the FBS. This was perhaps, one of the most intriguing of them. Not long after Premier Stukow had been diagnosed with Lung Cancer, he immediately appointed his son, Benedykt, to the position of General Secretary of the Sword Party. It was quite clear why this had been the case. Stukow wanted an heir he who had been raised with his ideals, essentially for his influence in the Party to continue on even after his passing. Benedykt had a good record, serving in the Steel Army's Logistics as a Major with good credentials. What unnerved Hanusz was how Benedykt was chosen despite the fact that his record was only ever 'good'. He was by no means outstanding. In fact, had his father not decided to appoint him, chances are, he would have lived the rest of his career in a dead-end mundane fashion, stuck in Logistics with nothing better to do.

What caused this turn-around was completely lost on the FBS Chairman. This was the first time the two of them talked, and based on what he said... Well, this comment was rather simplistic. Overly so. There were no sharp insights on the many specific little micromanaging issues that were obvious to Hanusz, which he scattered throughout the report. Yes, he might have been given this position as a chance to learn, but it had been over a year since his appointment. Surely he should have developed some degree of extra competency by now. Otherwise, the Premier would have immediately replaced him with somebody far more suited to the role.

"Do you have anything specific to say about it, Sir?"

"I'll have to review this report in my office later on," Stukow answered curtly, "I have many other things to attend to after all, Chairman."

"... of course, Sir." Hanusz nodded, apologetically. There was no doubt Stukow was competent. He just... wasn't as competent as Hanusz would expect for someone to be appointed to such an important position. Could the Premier have been mistaken? But no... Stukow's speeches, letters, everything that had emerged from that man's office was no less than stellar. It was this abnormal contrast between his performance in office and his military record that had first raised Hanusz's suspicions. Could he have been a late bloomer? A silent genius? The Chairman had at first given him the benefit of the doubt. Indeed, for this whole time, he had done so, because Stukow did nothing but produce excellent results, despite his mundane record.

But there always remained that tiny grain of doubt in his mind, which drove him to write this report in a slightly obtuse manner. Not enough to make it hard to read, mind, but just enough to make the average person read it twice to make sure he understood everything correctly. Somehow, he was not surprised that the General Secretary failed his test. Miserably. Not only did he oversimplify and overgeneralise, he even missed how Volga was just as important as Boliatur as a possible contribution to the main issue.

In addition to this farcical performance, Hanusz also noted his disposition to be... not all too intimidating. Oh, yes, he was definitely intimidating at first glance. But the longer he looked at the General Secretary, the more strange cracks he found. It was as if the man was putting on a show to look scary. It was no amateur show, but somebody with Hanusz's experience in reading true emotions was capable of discerning its falsity.

Stukow handed the folder over to a young woman standing behind him, one of two in this five man entourage that accompanied him everywhere. "In that case, Chairman, we are done here. Do excuse us, and keep up the good work." The General Secretary stretched out his right arm, giving a two-fingered salute. "Sława zwycięstwu."

Hanusz was given little time to return the salute before Stukow and his group exited the office, leaving him to his own thoughts. This self-contradiction of a mundane record with exemplary performance in office, exemplary performance in office with below average performance in person led him to only one simple conclusion: Stukow was a figurehead, being used by somebody else to gain power. But by whom? And why? If someone was so intent on becoming the elder Stukow's heir, why not just be up front with it? What would be so bad as to bar him from directly asking the Premier to be chosen?

His thoughts turned back to Benedykt's little clique of five, specifically that personal assistant of his. Was she even his assistant? No, she didn't dress like one at all. If anything, based on attire, the assistant was the other woman. Then why would he give the folder to her instead of his actual assistant? There was also this lingering familiarity in the back of his mind, telling the spy hunter that he had seen this woman before...

And just like that, something clicked. It all made sense now. But what Hanusz would do with that sense was a big question to himself. He would have to think this through carefully, just what to do now that he understood the truth of things.

It all tied back to that woman.

But why did it? How did she solve the mystery?

It was quite simple, really. He remembered her from a dossier he had once read.

Her name was Mieczysława Stukowa.

 

[Ashkelon]

OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR OF UNION RELATIONS
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-4-1952

Witwicki adjusted his spectacles, the glass circles on his eyes reflecting the harsh glare of the office lights. Standing in front of him, Benedykt Stukow - with his five-man entourage standing behind at some distance - reading through a report he had finished earlier today. It was a simple work, one that summarized the goings-on in Lower Swiecziema. The Union Relations Directorate's job was to make sure that everything was going swimmingly between the two major divisions of the Mezhist Union, and that job entailed procuring digests of what was happening in Lower Swiecziema, for those here in Upper Swiecziema to read. If there was anything that mainly concerned them, they could simply directly ring up whoever was in charge of that particular area. These were for broad, major issues, of course. Those who were more directly concerned directly contacted their counterparts in Lower Swiecziema.

"And everything seems to be on the level," the General Secretary concluded, shutting the folder with a certain finality. "The modernization program is going smoothly under way, so our brothers and sisters in Lower Swiecziema will be able to better protect themselves from Soviet attack."

"Indeed, Sir." Witwicki rubbed the stubble on his chin and adjusted his glasses again.

Benedykt raised an eyebrow. "You seem deep in thought."

"Sir, I noticed that 'Preparation H' has been reported as going according to schedule," the Director pointed out. "I didn't think the Agricultural Sector actually needed such a boost, given their recent bumper crop. The food stockpiles are also looking very good." The agricultural report spoke of the development of a feasible Hydroponic Farming system using technologies shipped in from Upper Swiecziema. The request for this development was first made ten months ago, soon after Premier Grudzinski's last heart attack, and Witwicki wondered to himself whether this had any relation to it whatsoever. It might have been a coincidence, and he always thought of himself something of a paranoid man. But for a project proposal like this to come out of nowhere with such timing, well...

The Upper Swieczieman response was greatly positive, quickly - albeit not immediately - receiving support from the Office of the General Secretary, which released an order to ship various bits of agriculturally and hydroponically related equipment across the border. Three Preparation H test farms were constructed. One was situated near Wislica, perhaps as a control area. Another was bult near the island city of Pilzno, arguably an ideal location, given its relatively moderate area. The other was Stradow, near the very edge of Lower Swiecziema. If you could grow a good crop there, you could grow a good crop anywhere. Perhaps that was the whole point of Preparation H. To expand the Union's ability to feed its citizens beyond the limitations of Zemcziema.

"Times won't always be good, Director," Benedykt answered thoughtfully. "There is a saying in Orazvocziema: 'Dig the well before you need the water.'" It was no secret that there was almost no rain in that region. Therefore they always needed water. But the context of this, at least, it meant that there should always be a well about in case something happened to the irrigation system. Yes, there was already a significant amount of irrigation there. But the system wasn't perfect, and there were times when entire sections of irrigation pipe were closed off due to some kind of damage. That was what the wells were for, and it was not a bad analogy.

Witwicki could only nod at that. "That is a very good point, Sir." Perhaps this heart attack was a reminder of that fact. The good times wouldn't always last. And perhaps, because of the suddenness of Premier Grudzinski's heart attack, the people behind this hydroponics program were scared into acting. It all made sense, really. "I must say though that it is quite a big leap to personally supervise the project. I admire your courage to deal with it yourself."

The General Secretary nodded. "Courage and faith. It might seem unnecessary at the moment, there are people this is unpopular with, for sure. But I have a majority of their confidence."

That was the key, was it not? A majority confidence, the rhetoric to convince as many people as necessary to allow the plan to pull through. Benedykt handed the folder to the woman behind him. She immediately began reading the contents. "I'll have to review this report in my office, Director. But you do such good work here. I thank the Almighty for your efforts." They exchanged a salute, before he turned to leave. "Keep up the good work."

Witwicki was soon left alone in his office, still pondering on the issue of Preparation H. Something was lingering, in the back of his mind, telling him that there was just something in it that didn't quite perfectly add up. He didn't have authorisation to have it investigated, though. No, he would have to find the truth for himself, outside of his capacity as Director of Union Relations. And something told him, that it had something to do with that woman.

She had always been part of his entourage, but ever since the second Preparation H report was written, she always immediately opened the report after receiving it. Unlike before. What did this all mean, exactly?

He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number.

"Yes, Sandomir? It's me. I need you to do me a favour..."

The voice on the other line gave an answer.

"I need you to do some research on somebody."

Another reply.

"Yes, I have a name... Mieczysława Stukowa."

 

[Ashkelon]

TIBUR BALCONY, UNITY PALACE
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-7-1952

Benedykt Stukow stood where the crowds could see, smiling and waving as an Armoured Division of Pantera tanks rolled down the avenue. His position was a prestigious one, a marvelous structure overlooking the cityscape and built facing in the general direction of Tibur - hence its name - to remind its inhabitants of how they had arrived where they were today. Tibur had not been seen as a source of power. Not by a long shot. Rather, it was a reminder to the Imperial Family - and to the higherups of the Mezhist Union - of their humble beginnings, and how Tibur had started them down the path to civilisation. Even today, the Union's two main divisions honoured Tibur by the purple in their flags, seeing it as something of a father who had now passed on, granting Swiecziema - then called Cerulunia - its independence and sovereignty as its own entity. And Swiecziema had indeed grown gloriously. This balcony had spent most of its history hosting the Cezars of the Swieczieman Imperium. Today, it hosted those in the highest office of the Mezhist Union.

Elsewhere, the reenactment was going swimmingly, with the registrar citing at least 20,000 participants. As was to be expected of his Father's condition - that is to say, failing miserably - he was required to stand in for him at the annual celebration of the glorious Steel Revolution. Two of his three siblings were of course, with their father at Giecz General Hospital, and while he had wished, even begged, to be by his side, his request was summarily denied by other members in the party, who insisted that he attend this grand function instead. He would be free to visit his father later. By his side stood his usual five-man entourage, along with several other high officials in the Sword Party, as well as representatives from the Federal Council.

Though he had just finished giving a beautiful speech, written by a very eloquent author specifically for him, and for this day, he was far more concerned about his father's declining health. The last visit with the doctor was not encouraging. Despite the Union's best efforts, Premier Stukow was losing his battle. How could he win it? After all, his enemy was not a corrupt and crumbling empire. It was himself. Benedykt had always seen his father as a strong man. Indeed, even though he was losing now, he was strong for lasting this long. The doctors had given him three months. It had been over fourteen months since his initial diagnosis.

Perhaps it was the will of the Almighty that it happen this way. Rather than going out in a whimper, so to speak, the Premier was fighting with every ounce of strength he had. If he was going to go down, he would go down arms swinging that sword, finger pulling that trigger, eyes alight with a blaze of unbridled determination. Even during his visit last week, Benedykt had indeed seen that blaze. Walentyn Stukow did not look like an old cripple rotting away in his bed. Though his body had become frail over fourteen months of treatment - and unstoppable spread of the tumour - his eyes made it clear that he was a soldier locked in heated combat every moment he still lived, every breath he still took. He was holding on for something, something precious.

How did Benedykt know this? It was very simple, really. His father had said so. But just what was the ailing Premier holding out for? Why was he still fighting with all his strength, beating the prediction by nearly a factor of five? Anybody else would have been content to last for double the doctors' prediction. And yet he continued this struggle, even when almost everybody else understood that all was lost, that his time was here, if it wasn't already overdue.

"He wants to see your rise to greatness, that your ascent is one you deserve," This voice belonged to Olgierd Mickiewicz, President of the Federal Council and a staunch supporter of his father. If anybody was good at reading minds, it was this man, who had always stood by his father's side and served not only as a great backbone to Stukow's administration of Upper Swiecziema, but as a dear family friend as well. And as his turn came about, Olgierd had shown him he ropes, helped him along the way, and stood by his side when things got tough.

"You think so?" Benedykt turned his head slightly to the Veteran, his gaze met with a warm smile.

"I know so," the older man replied. "Perhaps the only person who knows your father better than I is your mother," this was accompanied by a wink that made the young General Secretary turn away with an uncertainty of how to answer the perhaps, none-too-subtly lewd joke. Mickiewicz chuckled to himself at the reaction.

"I see..." A squadron of Ma 262 jet fighters screamed overhead, provoking another cheer from the crowd.

"Of course, I am humble enough to understand that I am not the only help you had along the way," Mickiewicz slightly gestured towards the young woman standing behind them. "You two make a very effective team, even without my supervision."

Mickiewicz was one of those who had discerned and uncovered the reasons behind the General Secretary's actions from the very beginning, and, very surprisingly, gave it his full support and backing. One might say it was manna from heaven, although one could not help but wonder if he'd had his own vested interests in this. If there was a reason that Sword Party was not as closed as the Sanation Party in Lower Swiecziema, it was probably because of this man. But why did he only act in these times, and not during the earlier years? Perhaps only the Almighty knew the reasons for sure. But suffice to say, without his assistance and influence, the operation would have been more, ah, challenging, to say the least.

"Your father wants to see you after the celebration," he quietly said, and turning to the young woman, added, "That means you as well, Mieczysława Stukowa."

 

[Ashkelon]

WARD 409, GIECZ GENERAL HOSPITAL,
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-8-1952

The clock on the whitewashed wall slowly ticked, the hands on its face clearly showing that it was more than a quarter past two in the morning. Two people sat at the side of the bed, one easily recognisable as none other than the General Secretary of the Sword Party, Benedykt Stukow. Except he had none of his usual aplomb and fancy attire. No, he was not here on official business, as it was personal business. There was no need for intimidating greatcoats or snazzy peaked caps here. Tender brown eyes gazed upon the figure in the bed, a rare sight for the normally strong-looking General Secretry. The other was one of the women from his entourage of five, dressed as she always was in a formal black blazer that identified her as a student of the University of Giecz. In contrast to Benedykt's short-cropped dirt blonde hair devoid of any decoration, her deep brown hair was long, verily so, adorned with a golden ribbon tied in the same way as a headband. Her golden eyes retained that piercing quality that she always harboured.

Reclining against the bed, the upper portion of which had been tilted up into a position allowing for one to "sit", was none other than the Premier of Upper Swiecziema, Walentyn Stukow. Despite nearly five seasons of treatment and a losing battle against cancer horribly battering his body, he nevertheless looked strong. At least, as strong as one could be for a dying cancer patient. Despite how he had lost so much, weight, he was still recognisable, and he only looked slightly frail. If there were a Swieczieman model for the "ideal" dying patient, it would no doubt be him. On the other side of the bed was a table where sat next to a vase of violets a machine built into a brown box. This machine had on it some knobs, switches, and dials, along with a small printer that spewed out a steady stream of lines. It was connected to the Premier via a series of electrodes. They had a passing familiarity with this brand new device, and were instructed to keep a close eye on the paper, if the lines printed out on it began to appear irregular. The lights in the room were still on, as they had been since early this evening, casting interesting shadows on the floor and wall as the three of them merely sat with each other.

While one could easily point out what was wrong with the scene, that is to say, it was a quarter past two in the morning, and thus over five hours past the cut-off for visiting hours, it could easily be said that this policy had been waived for a very special reason. One could also point out, that any 24-hour caretakers had also been dismissed for this particular session. All said and done, however, it was also quite obvious that one could see how this was verily much a private meeting of family, if in a limited fashion. The Premier had just dismissed his wife and two other daughters. For now, they stood vigil outside the room.

They had spent the evening reminiscing old times, about little adventures they had had as family. Benedykt had once goofed the football team, but tried again the next year with better success, even though in the end, he realised his passion was more of sports fishing. Bronisława played ice hockey, while Liljana had a hand in fencing. The Premier himself was more of a game hunter, much like his youngest, who always accompanied him on his trips out into the wilderness, where they spent much of their vacation time together. Their mother, however, was simply content to decorate the house with all of their trophies and awards.

Benedykt was still alighted with the memory of that one time, when the whole family had gone fishing while on a hunting trip with their father. After unknowingly hooking a massive fish, possibly a huchen, Liljana's was unable to properly fight it - it had been her first fishing trip after all - and her boat capsized. There was no doubt of course that at the time, it was quite a dangerous little situation, but looking back at it now only brought a smile to his face. It was memories like these, joyful memories, that they chose to keep. Even during the past year, their father had made sure to accomplish something he had always promised... a climb of the Barierowa Mountains. Not bad for an old man who was suffering from Lung Cancer.

The whole family was there to share in the feat, as they reached one of the summits and surveyed the beauty of nature from a truly high point. At that altitude, the world's curvature could clearly be seen, and indeed the sight itself had such a profound effect, that the Premier had called the family to kneel down in prayer. How could one not stare in awe at such grandeur, expliciting the majesty of this world built by the Almighty? It was a moment of conflicting feelings... while everybody had undoubtedly grown closer to each other at that time, they also realised that a time was coming, when one of them would have to leave. That same feeling was welling up at the bottom of Benedykt's gut once again.

"We saw your address this afternoon," the Premier started, "It was magnificent."

"I didn't write it, though..." Well aware of the full extent of his own contribution to that speech, the General Secretary scratched the back of his head in modesty. "All I did was read it."

The Premier chuckled, a twinkle in his eye. "Ben, did you expect me to have written all of my speeches? I may have done a few, yes. But what was important at the time, what was far more important, were the decisions I had to make, and the orders I had to give. I had almost no time to worry about what I would say to the people. I had other people take care of that for me." He turned to the young woman, who nodded in acknowledgement "Yes, Miecza has done a stupendous job writing that address. But you nevertheless delivered it beautifully."

Benedykt finally caved and accepted the credit being given him. "Thank you."

The Premier faced the TV mounted on the other end of the wall. Its screen was blank now, but it had no doubt done much to entertain him during those few times he was left alone. "I've been watching you two. You didn't think you would be able to pull some kind of wool over my eyes, did you?"

The siblings exchanged glances.

"I raised both you and personally handled your education. I will not say that I was responsible for you arriving at your conclusion and deciding to go down your path. That is something only you two can claim the credit for. However, having given you the foundation, I can at least attest to why I was able to discern your actions."

The room was quiet. Out of the corner of his eye, Benedykt could see his sister's visible discomfort.

"I can only say that I am proud. You have surpassed all of my expectations. Miecza, for developing all the proper skills and connections to realise whatever you would whim. Leadership is not about where you are in a hierarchy. Leadership is how much influence you have over other people, regardless of your place, and how you use that influence. You will go far. Ben, for having the courage to take this place, for not backing out. You don't know everything yet. You might never, just as I do not. But Miecza will help you. Just keep your courage." The Premier turned to face them again.

"I had great dreams for this nation. But I realised early on that they could never be done in a single lifetime. So I looked to the future. I focused on paving the way for the dreams of my children, whatever they may be." He raised his arm with a firmness and strength that defied its frail appearance, finger touching the centre of the woman's forehead, "My legacy to you," and then the General Secretary's heart, "And my legacy to you. You have great dreams for this nation. That is the greatest gift you could ever give me." The hand returned to its place on the bed.

"Father..."

"Papa..."

"Olgierd has helped me out greatly during my time. He will help you out during yours. But he is also old. Use his time wisely."

They nodded, provoking a chuckle from their father. To him, they looked like children still, nodding in that reverential fashion.

"We really are on the threshold of a new era. It is time to pass the torch, from one generation to the next." The Premier raised his right hand again, bringing attention to the rings on his middle and index fingers, finely crafted silver, one topped with lapis lazuli, the other with topaz. "Blue, for the ocean. Peaceful and calm on the surface, but with a tiger heart beneath. Ben. This is yours."

Benedykt slowly reached for that finger and daintily removed the indicated ring, placing it on his own.

"Yellow for the sun. Giver of light, and thus knowledge, but blazing with a heat incomparable. Miecza. This is yours."

The woman was not quite as gentle as her brother, but knew how to do it with care nonetheless.

The Premier nodded. "I want to rest soon. So there won't be any fancy ceremonies. But take this by its own solemnity. By the power vested in me by the Federal Council of the Upper Swieczieman Federative Mezhist Republic, I turn over my duties, and responsibilities to you, Benedykt Stukow, as leader of this nation." His breathing began to grow heavier, his pace slower. "And to you... I grant power and authority, to guide your brother along this path, to correct him when in error... to be his... overseer... Mieczysława... Stukowa....."

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[Ashkelon]

4TH FLOOR HALLWAY, GIECZ GENERAL HOSPITAL
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-13-1952

Benedykt Stukow sat quietly on the bench. The doctors had given them the word a little over an hour ago: it was finished. While the rest of the family had gone to make the arrangements, or answer the news correspondents waiting anxiously outside, the General Secretary had opted to stay here on this chair and... well, he wasn't quite sure what there was to do. There were so many things going through his mind at the moment. It had been nearly fifteen months since he was first informed: his father was suffering from lung cancer. Almost immediately afterwards, his CO had ordered him transferred from his station in Czempin all the way back to Giecz, where he received the news: he was being given the position of General Secretary of the Sword Party.

It was a prestigious position, to be sure, and as his sister had told him at one point, "go through enough loopholes, and you might as well be a little Premier". Yes, that was perhaps the whole point of this. It was all his father's idea. But Miecza had indeed jumped along for the ride. She understood him best, despite the 16-year age gap between them. She also understood their father best. Most importantly... she was the most ambitious of them all... God knows, Benedykt would have been content to retire a Pulkownik with some property near his favourite fishing spot in lake Radtke, Bronislawa a professional ice hockey player, and Liljane a professional fencer.

All Miecza ever talked about since her earlier days was becoming Premier when she grew up. It took some explanation to get her to understand that in the present socio-political climate, that just wasn't going to happen. Even then, she would say, "so I can't be like St. Weronika?" and go into a tantrum. When she turned six, she finally quieted down. But it was clear that she hadn't changed her mind in the slightest. She spent more time with their father, more time than anybody except maybe their mother.

You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. But what if you spent disproportionately more time with one person than the other four? Between the hunting trips, sitting down with him after she finished her homework and watching him do his work, asking him all those questions... Their father was always patient enough to oblige, especially whenever she kept asking for why. Even as a little child, she was so precocious... and now, after thirteen years of picking him apart, she had become him. Or at least, a bigger version of herself who happened to know how he worked, and how he reasoned.

Miecza had immediately deduced what their father's intention was, and used it to her advantage.

Benedykt really had no choice in the matter. He would become General Secretary... but Miecza would do most of his work. He would learn on his own, and she would help him, but not give him the all the answers. She called it "cheating". And so he did what he could, learning the ropes at his own pace. It was not surprising, however, that he could not learn in one year what she had spent thirteen years almost obsessively studying. He wouldn't say that Miecza had become his crutch... but she was certainly far more fit for this capacity than him at the moment.

But now, fifteen months of hard work and training had to be put to the test. Their father was gone, and everybody - except Miecza, at least - was expecting him to step up to the plate. The Federal Council had already voted for in his favour last week, establishing him as his father's 'heir' so to speak. But clearly, this was only possible through Miecza and Olgierd's activities behind the curtain. And what about the situation in Lower Swiecziema? Premier Grudzinski's son was now in charge, along with a cadre of loyal directors who were closer to Miecza's age group than his own. He was hardly one who fit in with them. Though he was certainly not old enough to fit in with the Veterans either.

Benedykt thought back to that speech he made. He was neither young nor old. And that made him... unique... one might say. He was a little boy at the time of the revolution, and could still remember the grim details of that time. They had imprinted on him, harshly. He could not properly connect to the post-revolutionary generation. But at the same time, he was also one who did not experience the horrors of the revolution directly. He was an outsider to both. And that made him worry.

"Still sitting around like that?" A voice asked from his side. He looked up to see his little sister, to see those golden eyes burning with passion unhindered by their father's death, to see that beaming smile that showed just how all too genuine it was.

"How can you still be smiling?" were the first words out of his mouth.

That smile immediately turned upside down as for just a moment, that eternal confidence disappeared like a bubble that had been freshly popped. "I cried ahead of you all. I cried until I ran out of tears. But I can't let anyone see me cry. Papa wouldn't want anyone to see him cry either."

And just as quickly, the smile returned. But there was this new quality about it... a nostalgic quality. Bitter, yet sweet. "That's why we always cry alone. We cry until there are no tears left. And then we cry some more. You only cried these last few weeks, only realising then who it was you were losing. I cried three months ago, when I knew it was over."

Benedykt remained quiet as the girl spun around like a ballerina and stopped in a one-person tableau, freezing for a moment before grabbing his hand and holding it up for him to see the ring on his finger. "Blue for the ocean. Peaceful on the surface, but with a tiger heart beating beneath. You still don't get it, do you?" She let go and turned away, facing the light streaming into the window. "We've done everything already. You're set. Now you just have to do the work... Premier Benedykt."

The General Secretary looked up at the girl, who returned his gaze. The fire in her eyes burned even stronger now. "You have to address the public in a few hours. Suck in that gut, stand tall and stand proud. Papa is watching over us. You wouldn't want to mess that up now, would you?"

Without waiting for a reply, she started down the hallway.

She was always like that, pushing people around. If not physically, then certainly in other aspects. Benedykt couldn't help but stand up and follow that girl down the hall. It was only now that he really understood what she had meant when she was younger. Why she was going through these things now. That she wasn't helping him out of some sort of unusual sense of responsibility. Not at all. Now, the both of them understood the truth. There was only really one person fit to succeed the Premier. It wasn't Benedykt Stukow. No, the only person fit to succeed Walenty Stukow was his youngest daughter... the only one of his children to truly understand him, what he wanted to give them... what he desired for the future... Even his last words to them that night made it clear: That one person was none other than Mieczysława Stukowa.

 

[Ashkelon]

JAROMIL HALL, UNITY PALACE,
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
9-16-1952

The Unity Palace's official name was the "Palace of the Unity forged by King Bogumierz and those pursuant to his dream". Of course to go ahead and say that repeatedly meant that a lot of people would get tongue-tied, and many typists would certainly tire. As such, its name was shortened to simply either "Unity Palace", or "Bogumierz Palace". Either or was acceptable, and the media used both with equal frequency. Nevertheless, whatever you called it, it was first constructed by Cezar Bogumierz III to commemorate the transition of his Imperium from "Cerulunia" to "Swiecziema". The first section was completed in 1335, with Bogumierz and his successors incrementally adding extensions to the structure until the final addition in 1478, when it had become the vast symbol of power that it was to this day. To compare the Palace in Wislica with Bogumierz Palace was to compare a comfortable upper middle class bungalow to a three storey mansion. Both certainly looked proper for the living of their residents, but this palace completely dwarfed the latter. With the palace grounds covering over 1700 acres two hundred of which were gardens, and a floor space of roughly 60,000 square metres, it was without a doubt one of the larger ones in the world.

Bogumierz's personal memoirs, preserved in the Federal Archives, made it clear that he had no overinflated self-importance, and named the palace for his ancestor, Bogumierz I, who spearheaded the Christianization of Cerulunia. That said, there was no doubt that Bogumierz III himself had a great influence in shaping the "Swieczieman Identity", not the smallest of these influences being the fact that he coined the term to begin with.

Now, Jaromil Hall was one of many private conference rooms found within the Unity Palace. It was a large conference room, the lacquered mahogany walls showing off impressive wood grain patterns that were pleasant to the eye. Some potted plants stood in the corners, as a quartet of air conditioning units ensured it never got too hot inside. It had no windows, being deeper within the palace's structure. The hall was equipped with all the latest equipment required to host a meeting, such as multiple typewriters for taking down the minutes, a large conference table, a projector set, for the occasional times when certain footage had to be reviewed, and other things. The table itself could sit maybe two dozen individuals, and indeed, about that number were presently seated, in some degree or another participating in the discussion.

Two smaller tables on opposite sides of the room were allotted to the typists took down the minutes in a flurry of heavy tacking typing sounds.

The Enclave was, simply put, a certain cabal of powers within Upper Swiecziema, an elect club of the elite, chosen specifically because of their influence. Indeed, the label was rather self-explanatory to anybody who understood the context. An enclave was a territory completely surrounded by another territory. In this case, the Enclave was a group of the most influential individuals in the upper echelons of Upper Swiecziema. They were not part of the Federal Council, though they certainly had members who were part of it. They were not part of the cabinet, although there were definitely Directors sitting in a few of these chairs. One might say that it was a meritocratic clique, the only requirement for joining being a certain threshold of influence one had in Upper Swiecziema, and certain... beliefs... one possessed.

This eclectic group was first brought together a little over a year ago, and they had, since then, been working to take hold of the order of things, and shape them into things of their design. And to say the least, it had been working beyond their expectations. "Power is Leadership, and Leadership is Influence." That was one of the sayings that the members of the Enclave ascribed to. Indeed, the result of applying this maxim was evident enough. While there were no doubt many snags in the road over the last year, they were overshadowed by the success of the Enclave's persistent, unyielding efforts. At the end of the day, failures and mishaps were ultimately the price of success. Every member believed it. Every member lived it.

"Based on what you've all told me today, it's pretty clear that the bill will be passed," the young woman sat in something of a slouch at the head of the table, chin and left cheek resting in her palm as she stressed the disinterested look on her face. In a way, her posture very closely resembled a famous 16th century portrait of Cesarzowa Liljana the Great that was made during the height of her power. Whether or not she intentionally mimicked this posture was up to debate, but there was no denying that she did look like a little Cesarzowa... if one who was attending the University of Giecz. "Is that right?"

"We've secured a majority of the Federal Council's votes," answered an elderly lady a few seats down the table. "Once the bill is passed, the resulting act will take effect immediately."

The woman nodded as her eyes slipped over to Hanusz, who sat opposite from the lady, probing to see his reaction.

The spy hunter kept a poker face. As the newest member of the Enclave, recruited less than two weeks ago, he had yet to prove his usefulness, although nobody could doubt his connections. He answered directly to the Director of Federal Intelligence, who, unsurprisingly, was also sitting at the same table. But if the woman understood anything, it was that just because Hanusz was in the same hierarchy, it didn't mean he had all the same connections. The DFI had made that very clear to her.

"I'll make the necessary preparations," he finally said.

She nodded again, taking note of how he had so blankly and plainly said it. Apparently, to be a spook meant to be so professional so as to appear to be a golem of some kind. "Then we can move on to the final proposition. Olgierd?"

Mickiewicz, who sat immediately at her right hand, cleared his throat. "So far, we have quite a bit of resistance in the Federal Council. Many think that we would be 'following in the footsteps of Lower Swiecziema, which reverses the roles we have traditionally had for centuries'."

"And they aren't concerned for the fact that Papa deserves such an honour?"

"It's a smokescreen," Mickiewicz said. "Yes, Upper Swieczieman Pride might be a major factor, but I know of another big issue. It's possible that they think the Church would find it heretical. This goes beyond changing one's title to 'Eternal Premier', Miecza. It's beyond making him a 'mere' Saint." The implications of such a bill passing, would spill beyond the realms of politics, and into that of religion. And Swiecziemans took their religion very, very seriously.

"In that case..." The woman's eyes darted over to another man sitting at the table, one who stood out amongst the rest of these individuals for the fact that he was not wearing a suit. Rather, he wore a very ornate habit. "Archbishop?"

Archbishop Kornel of Giecz rubbed his beard for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. "If, and that is a big if, we manage to convince the Patriarch to endorse the idea, or perhaps even make the first public proposition of it, it might be possible to sway the Federal Council, if the matter of faith, doctrine, and heresy do indeed play an important part in this." To be sure, the Archbishop was, at least in the terms of the faith, highly influential, and highly ambitious. He intended to succeed Patriarch Honok, and for that purpose, he saw a great benefit the Enclave could give him. In exchange, he would no doubt wield his own connections to contribute to the latter's ends. Not to mention, it made sense for the Church and State to very closely agree, after all, the Almighty was the Lord of all things, and all things answered to Him. Whether the self, the family, the church, or the state, these four jurisdictions of life ultimately answered to Him.

"All well and good then. In the meantime, Olgierd, make sure to continue your own efforts with the Federal Council. We shall approach this in a two-pronged attack until they capitulate to our intentions." The woman sat upright, with the rest of the people at the table suddenly becoming alert, as if this was a particularly important sign. "Are there any other propositions that I should be made aware of?"

Mickiewicz spoke up. "There is still the issue of selecting Premier Benedykt's new title in light of the Premier Proposition."

"Oh, I've already gotten a good idea," the woman casually answered, flicking some stray locks away from her face. "You could say it came from Papa himself." She cleared her throat and swiftly put her palms down flat on the table, standing up as she did so. "I motion for the new title of "Nadzorca", an overseer to supervise our Federation while the Premier watches us from on-high. All in favour, and all against! Raise your hands in decision!"

Twenty-three right hands went up. This brought a smug smirk to the woman's face. How could anybody say no to that? It was simple, descriptive, and to the point. "Very well. Nadzorca it is. Olgierd, write up that bill. Is there anything else that needs deliberation?" She crossed her arms and waited.

The table was silent for some fifteen seconds. Clearly, if there were any more issues that needed to be handled, nobody could think of any.

"Then if there aren't, I hereby declare this meeting adjourned. There's a lot of work to do, so let's go and do it. We'll see you again next week." The woman raised her hand forward above eye level in the two-fingered Swieczieman salute. "Sława zwycięstwu."

This phrase was repeated across the table. As soon as they finished, the Enclave disbanded for the week, each member neatly filing out of the room. This had been going on for almost fifteen months now, and indeed, everybody was already used to it. Even Hanusz was already clearly comfortable with the idea of controlling the situation in this way. He still had his reservations, but what he had seen so far had very good indications.

The woman was the last to exit the room, switching off the lights and shutting down the air conditioning before she closed the door behind her. The steady echo of shoes clacking down the hall was something that had become commonplace in this particular wing of the Palace. A lone pair of footsteps, whose owner had been left to her own devices. The woman rounded a corner, and crossed the bridge connecting the West Wing to the central structure. She took a brief moment to pause and look out the window, at the expansive gardens of the palace, the city skyline that stood past that... and beyond that, the sparkling waters of Lake Radtke.

Yes, this was Giecz. This was Swiecziema. And she made sure to take it upon herself, as she had sworn at her father's deathbed, that she would do everything in her power to bring it to prominence, to capture the essence of the Golden Swieczieman Imperium, and eventually surpass it. But power required influence, and influence required connections. The two dozen members of the Enclave were her top connections, the most powerful men and women in the Federation. Many of them, she had known from her youth, because she had spent so much time with her father. They were her father's strongest and closest allies, his big fish. And the best part was, she knew them very closely, and they knew her. They had formed a mutual respect. And this respect was ultimately key to her goal.

They didn't treat her like a child. They had already used up all that child-like treatment. They knew her well enough to understand that she was not that little girl who the Premier had brought with her on a clique hunting trip thirteen winters ago. She was a respected heiress to the legacy of Walentyn Stukow, who had vowed to take his dream to the next step. She was not a precocious little child who kept asking "why". She was a confident young woman who had asked "why" so many times that she had gotten all of their "why"s, and knew enough to come up with her own. Even to new questions.

But at the end of the day, she understood that she owed all of this to her father. For how he had, from early on, promoted her to these people, introduced them to her, and had them understand that he meant to entrust them to her in the future. If they had any doubts of her abilities, they had had their chance to test all these doubts. Thirteen years. Her life was not easy. No life of any successful leader should be easy. Only the lives of the mediocre were easy. In her case, the personal challenges she had been given, had suffered through, had surpassed, were all orchestrated by these particular people. She had lived thirteen years in an unending trial by fire, so that when the time came, when this specific time came, she had become as gold, refined through over a decade of burning tribulations and tests. She was prepared.

She reached out to the setting sun and grasped at the image, her hand tightening into a fist. This was the tipping point. All of her father's Machinations had come down to this time. All her own efforts and tests were now to be unleashed into reality, to be put to the ultimate test. That smug smirk returned to its proper place on her face. Now was the time. Now was the beginning, of the reign of Mieczysława Stukowa.

 

[Ashkelon]

OFFICE OF THE NADZORCA, BOGUMIERZ PALACE,
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC
1-7-1953

The air was dense, sensibly reflecting the depth of the discussion that was soon to end. Benedykt Stukow quietly sat, going through everything that had just taken place here, which was to say quite a bit that he would rather not have preferred. Once again, he had received his regular dose of "advice", and once again, he found himself wondering if it truly was good advice, advice that he would personally recommend had his position been in reverse. Standing in front of his desk was this girl, dressed like a student from the esteemed University of Giecz, which he himself had attended half a lifetime ago. There she stood as a reminder of how he had performed there... that is to say, not all too well, but just enough to earn his diploma... one that he did not use anyway, as he decided to just join the Steel Army.

"Union-wide rationing," these words came from the girl's mouth, in her usual subtly forceful fashion.

Benedykt remained unmoving, but it was obvious that he was considering his options. "The ETID report here says that even without rationing, we should be able to maintain a healthy surplus of supplies and raw materials outside of military affairs throughout the duration of the Operation. That was the whole point of stockpiling goods, and growing our industrial and agricultural power-base ever since the birth of the Union."

"Yes, we do. And yes, it was. However, if we wish to go beyond merely the Operation," The girl cleared her throat. "If we intend to go through with our general procedure, we will indeed have to ration... if only for a few years. The industrial and agricultural sectors will eventually catch up. With other threats looming over the horizons beyond Miroslavl, we don't have much choice."

"... are you sure about this?"

"We've already made our conclusion," she answered, lazily flicking away a stray lock of hair. Benedykt's eye twitched. She used that pronoun again. 'We'. No, this did not refer to a royal plural. She did not have enough pomp to address herself in such a manner. Rather, she referred to that panel she had assembled over the last year, that panel even Benedykt himself had not had the pleasure of meeting, the panel that ensured that what he wanted became possible. Or at least, nominally so. Since his assuming the position of Nadzorca, he'd perhaps passed maybe one decision to them, as they seemed more interested in making their own decisions and imposing their own idea of how Upper Swiecziema should be run. But at least they'd been true to their nominal function, and indeed made a reality that "wish" he had made to them.

In his present condition, he might as well have been sleeping on the job and the Federation would still run like clockwork. Though it wasn't so much a matter of his proposals being ignored, as it was the fact that they decided on making proposals happen before he could even think of any proposals to make happen. Were this a game of chess, they were thinking three moves ahead, and were moving the game so quickly that the Nadzorca had difficulty trying to figure out what the next move would even be.

"... and this is the optimal approach."

"Of course! Our people are Sarmatians, Ben," she pointed out, "A little rationing won't kill them. It'll make them stronger, if only marginally, given how minor the rationing will be compared to other past rationing schemes. You said it yourself in your New Years' Address!"

"Which you wrote."

As if ignoring that quip, the girl carried on. "Look, our friends in Lower Swiecziema have already agreed to the proposed Rationing System. The Sejm is ready to meet with the Federal Council for an Emergency Vote. Everything is in place. We just need your go signal."

Benedykt's expression soured. "It seems like that's the only thing you've ever been asking of me these days. How am I supposed to learn anything about doing my job?"

She leaned onto the desk and gently tugged the Nadzorca by the collar until his face was a couple of inches from her leery smile. "Ben. Trust me on this. You're learning a lot about your job. In a year, you'll be ready to take the reins yourself, I'm sure of it!"

Benedykt began to sweat. Lots of things were racing through his mind. Why did he feel like she was just trying to erase his mounting doubt? Why was he letting her push - rather pull - him around like this? Well maybe that part was pretty clear. But why did their father choose him to take this job in the first place? Was it because he was the only man of the four siblings? Did their father really mean for him to be a figurehead, or did he honestly believe in the idea of "advisor and decision maker", and so was she just exploiting his trust? If that were so, how was he supposed to deal with the situation? He swallowed a lump. "... if you say so."

"Great!" The girl released her hold and stood up from the desk. "So, do we have your go?"

"Alright. But, I'd like to make more decisions from now on..." he paused as she looked him in the eye. There were flames in those eyes, burning bright, like that in his speech. "Promise me."

"I promise." That was without any hesitation at all. Almost as if it were automatic.

"Miecza. I'm serious. Promise me."

"And I'm serious. I promise!"

Benedykt sighed. How did this happen? It seemed rather clear at this moment that the real Nadzorca of Upper Swiecziema wasn't him, but none other than Mieczysława Stukowa.

 

[Ashkelon]

JAROMIL HALL, BOGUMIERZ PALACE,
GIECZ, UPPER SWIECZIEMAN FEDERATIVE MEZHIST REPUBLIC

"The question, I believe, would be whether this was in fact, a communist supporter, 'True Mezhism' trying to frame communists while silencing their detractors as well, or some third party attempting to take advantage of the turmoil plaguing Portsiar at our expense." The Director of Federal Intelligence clasped his hands as he gave this assessment.

Hanusz speared a piece of kopytka from his saucer and took a bite, before speaking. "I would like to add that we have yet to ascertain how many parties are involved in the matter. This requires much investigation on our part."

"P. Jószef's death was most tragic," sighed the elderly lady, taking a sip from her cup of tea. "But his courage was indubitable. To this, the best way to honour his martyrdom is to make sure that it was a death not in vain."

"I recommend that we have our Ivernish contacts ascertain the nature behind this latest attack," said Hanusz. "If it is the communists, then this sort of reaction was to be expected. They only add fuel to the fire, reinforcing our point that they are violent animals, in their blind rage attacking the unarmed man who happens to be wearing similar clothes to the man with the smoking gun. We should encourage caution and distrust towards the communists, but not violence. Violence is beneath us."

"And if it is the Mezhist Pretenders?" asked the elderly lady.

"We separate ourselves further. Clearly, if they are killing their "fellow Mezhists", even if it is to make communism look bad, then they are no fellow Mezhists. They are now, more certain than ever, the animals we decry them to be. The issue of a separate party is an entirely different matter, and it would be appropriate to identify the party in question in order to be able to move against it. Nevertheless..." The FBS Chairman found himself scratching his chin and staring at his saucer of kapytki. "In the first place, how did this attacker manage to get through the security screen? There are many options... bribery, support of a powerful group... false ID, true ID... this must also be ascertained. Given the tense nature of the issue surrounding the press conference, the Ivernish security would have had preparations in place. But how it was compromised like this does not add credence to their image."

"Our contacts will be sure to verify these things," said the Director of Federal Intelligence, still keeping his hands clasped. "Accurate information is necessary to ensure a correct course of action."

Sitting at the head of the table, the woman quietly analysed the conversation happening in front of her. The situation in Ivernia was one of several concerns that were brought up during recent meetings. Especially important, since the Ivernish nation was a very important business partner, especially in the case of aeronautics. More importantly, it was because Ivernia had a legitimate Mezhist Party, recognised by the Senate, and thus if garnering enough support, capable of influencing the nation's policies.

The Steel Revolution was publicly, a triumph of the people. However, what most people did not realise, was that it was a very unfortunate side-effect of a misunderstanding proliferated by belligerent hyper-reactionists... reactionists such as the Caretanian Mezhists. The Ivernish extremists who bombed that building in Portsiar were exactly the kind of trouble the Caretanians were. If one carefully studied history, and asked the Veterans, one would know that there was no plan to overthrow the Imperium. In fact, the Imperium gave its full support to the Veterans' activities. It was the Caretanians who ruined everything, so to speak.

The Caretanians provoked the Imperium to turn against the Veterans and thus start the Revolution. The Caretanians executed nearly all of the Imperial Family when the Veterans preferred to just have the Cezar abdicate and install a more sympathetic successor. The Caretanians called for Mezhist Republic.

Well... the Caretanians certainly got what they wanted. But they also paid for all the idiocy that they promoted. Now, it was up to the Mezhist Union to clean up all of these mistakes. Even though it was not really promoting Mezhism, so much as a conveniently separate idea under 'Mezhism's' name. Perhaps, in a way, the extremists were indeed the "true" Mezhists. After all, they acted just like those Caretanians who espoused it. This "Mezhism" espoused by the Union, on the other hand, was more moderate, tempered, and did not call for the overthrow of any ruling authority... unless it was communist, of course.

A "Mezhist" state could be a republic, as this Union was... at least, nominally. It could also certainly be a monarchy, as was the case prior to the arrival of the Caretanians. The people could have their Mezhism, and a king could have his cake and eat it, too. It was a matter of simply going with the general idea.

"Our position is clear," the woman finally said, as she continued to slouch in reminiscence of Cezarzowa Liljana the Great, "Our counter-offensive will be one of words and non-violent actions in close cooperation with the Ivernish government. Ivernia must recognise that we are no threat to their crown, or their people. Unlike the communists to their east, or the Jingo-Republicans across the ocean in the west. And we will make sure that what we do speaks the same message as what we say. Prepare several reactions for each scenario based on each possible identity of the shooter. Communist, 'True Mezhist', and Other. For the latter, think of every possibility. In all cases, P. Jószef must be turned into a martyr, and his valiance to speak despite the threat that he faced, with the opposing party condemned to the highest order."

The table began to buzz as each person broke off to discuss among each other. "All in agreement?"

Twenty-three hands went up.

"Good. Now, onto the next matter..."

 

[Ashkelon]

Office of the Nadzorca
Bogumierz Palace, Giecz


Benedykt Stukow browsed through the latest report on the war in Yujin. All of the paranoid stockpiling of weapons and supplies, strict recycling procedures, and other means of increasing industrial and economic efficiency initiated at the birth of the Union had been somehow paying off. The past three decades, they had been building everything up in a cold war with the communists next door. As one could imagine, with the years going by, weapons would get outdated and need replacement. These aging weapons were put into storage and kept in good fighting condition, even as new weapons came into play. He never imagined they would actually be put to good use within his lifetime. The fear had always been there, but with the coldness of the war, he had been growing to doubt it... until this happened.

Still, the Shield leader had a point. The Union's industrial capacity had not yet peaked. It was very impressive, yes, but by no means had it reached its full potential. Sending all these old weapons would not damage the Union at all. Perhaps even sending those 84 modern jets would not be too big a dent, so long as they could manufacture proper replacements quickly enough. However, now he found himself signing authorisation forms for businesses and corporations to begin expanding into [MENTION=983]Yujin[/MENTION] and investing in building up its industry. He'd already sent the first ships there a few days ago. Engineers, construction equipment, raw materials, and all of the other necessities one expected to be able to construct factories and infrastructure.

Danbu, Shenghu... two cities that just recently, had become vital to the Union's efforts in the Eastern Empire. The reports from ETID were clear. There was no issue of shortage. Everything would be provided out of surplus. And so there would be no need to clamp down on the Union's generous allocation of bread and circuses. The entertainment industry would continue to produce. The trains would continue to run on time. The last part of the Autostrady would be completed. There would be three square meals everyday. Education would continue to keep its high standard. And the quality of life would be kept at its high, even with this "little" strain on the Union.

"Love, or fear?"

Stukow looked up from his report at the question suddenly asked of him. His gaze was met by that woman's golden eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Love or fear?"

"I..." He shook his head again. "I'm not quite sure of this context."

"Ideally, one must rule with a combination of love and fear," the woman flicked some hair away from her face. "But if you could only choose one, which would it be?"

"Well it's easy. Love. Fear might be a quick short-term fix, but in the long term, it only leads to being hated. Love, on the other hand, causes parents to kill - or die - for their children, for soldiers to follow their leader wherever they go, even to the gates of hell if need be, and for nationals to remain loyal in their country, even when things are going bad."

"A fair point," the woman nodded and sat on her brother's desk. "But love is so fickle, is it not? Love is an internal motivator, controlled by the individual subject. Unpredictable. Fear is controlled by you."

"Well yes, but..."

"But, it depends on what kind of fear you instil. In all cases, it is best to avoid being hated. And what kind of fear can one enforce that will not lead to hatred?"

The Nadzorca furrowed his eyebrows as he took a moment to think over the question. It was always these tricky questions that got him, and only on a few occasions did he successfully answer such a question right in school. What kind of fear did not eventually cause one to hate the object of fear? Was it an indomitable fear? No. He recalled loathing the monster under his bed when he was a child, how it always paralysed him in fear. Then what was it, exactly? What kind of fear did not eventually result in hatred?

What would their father say? And that, was what gave him an idea. He looked back up at the woman and reclined into his chair.

"Well?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Respect. It is earned, so it is controlled by you. It is "fear" that does not result in hatred, but rather, inspires awe and admiration. Most importantly, respect, if used carefully, eventually breeds love."

The woman smiled. "That's right. Above all, a leader must be respected."

"So why this all of a sudden?" Benedykt went back to reading through his report.

"It goes back to what we're involved in right now."

"The Federal Government is respected by the people," he answered nonchalantly. "Everything seems to be doing good enough. I admit that we need to improve things in some areas, particularly where there are communist insurgencies, but most of the populace is well off..."

"I'm not talking about our people." She placed another folder down on the Nadzorca's desk. Benedykt set down his report and picked it up, to read through it. "This Emperor we're currently supporting," she started, "Is a basket case."

"Miecza..."

"The people hate him, and his dynasty. Even if we win the war, I doubt Yujin would remain stable afterwards." The document went on to explain how yes, the current Emperor's dynasty was a result of his ancestors having seized the Jade Throne some century and a half ago.

Benedykt rubbed his nose bridge. "We can't just topple the Yujiner Empire and set up a Republic. That would be repeating the Steel Revolution."

"I never said that." The woman quieted down from her excited state.

"Then what are you suggesting?" Now it was the Nadzorca's turn to raise an eyebrow.

She leaned in close until their noses almost touched. "I say it's simple enough. It's all there."

He read through the file. It contained dossiers, specifically of one General Sun, who was currently leading the offensive against Liangang. Based on what it had to say about him, he was a very well-respected man. Benedykt shook his head. "It still isn't much different from the Revolution. He has no claim to the throne."

"Read on."

Benedykt moved on to the next file. His eyes slowly widened at what he saw. He looked back up to her, and was met with a cat-like smirk that one might consider... Cheshire, as opposed to his own surprised expression.

"The Federal Intelligence Directorate sure does its homework, huh?"

The Nadzorca remained silent.

"Tell you what, you think about it, and I'll get you a soda." Without another word, the woman left the room, leaving the Upper Swieczieman Head of State to think for himself. What game was she playing now?