«12. . .4,7654,7664,7674,7684,7694,7704,771. . .4,7744,775»
The FRO has clandestinely informed the Ministerial Councils for Foreign Affairs, Defense, and Intelligence of this requested Audience.
Additionally the Foreign Reconnaissance Office has informed Free Lucijan Intelligence of this request, highlighting it as one of particular interest and proposing a joint operation to eavesdrop on this conversation.
Though the Cybusians frequently complain about communists on Earth, they are honestly lucky to have them. The other alternative was Aturorists- madmen obsessed with conquering the entire Earth and exterminating the human race. Compared to that, the communists are far more reasonable.
True! The communists are -to some extent- willing to compromise and pursue somewhat friendly relations.
2015:
Tomas Issak attended a ribbon-cutting ceremony today, unveiling a large new structure on Izvot, a large domed hall dubbed the Communal Assembly Hall. He has also, rather surprisingly, announced that local communes (soviets) may send representatives to the newly created Communal Assembly
“Our glorious revolution has accomplished much since it was launched five years ago. We have begun the process of eliminating our class enemies, a process we are continuing to this day. We are in a superb state of defense: our vessels are faster, stronger, and more efficient than those used by the Cybusian capitalists. Our industrial output has increased fifty-fold.
The need for emergency measures has eased, and the proletariat may now speak freely; local communes may now send two representatives each to the Communal Assembly, headquartered here in Izvot! Here, the proletariat may vote to decide on important matters of policy, both internal and external. I hereby open the Communal Assembly Hall to all, so that any who wish to visit it may do so.”
The establishment of a representative body in a nation widely considered a totalitarian communist power is a shock to many, and it remains to be seen how it may moderate Vanlikian society.
Johnathan Reid stared quietly at the TV. It showed a feed of the total solar eclipse. He was utterly entranced, fixated, fascinated by it. Not the eclipse…the occultation. That seemed the more fitting term for it, because for him, it held a deeper significance. For all vampires. It was like a magnetic pull, that fascinated every vampire on every world capable of occultations. Even ferals, who knew nothing but the instinct of feeding and survival, had been documented staring up if they were in the path of totality, before being driven back into shelter when totality ended. Of course, the staring was not omnipresent, because many of them fed on people during the occultation, taking advantage of the brief disappearance of the sun to feed during ‘daytime’. Something about occultations fascinated all vampires, even the ferals.
He had watched as the growing shadow of the moon bit deeper into the sun like a fang through flesh, the sun shrinking. The sunlight ebbed and died, like the fading pulse of someone being drained of blood. The sunlight began to die down, reduced to spectacular and short-lived pearls of light. The beads of light rapidly snuffed out like candles were the last gasp of the sun before totality, and the crimson halo surrounded the moon, like a bloody crown.
Totality. Johnathan's undead heart quickened its beat. He was an educated man. On an intellectual level, he understood what was happening; the moon was passing before the sun. Yet he could not help feeling something strange within him. Mortals might feel something akin to fear; the night-frightened primitive deep inside them wanting to flee, or panic, dismayed by the unnatural darkness during daytime. Johnathan felt something different, something he could not quite put into words. An occultation was akin to a gigantic act of vampirism, he reasoned. A cold, dead moon eclipsing a flaming star and casting a shadow over the planet, while also hiding, even for just a few minutes, the burning rays of the sun. Much like how vampirism was a triumph of death over life, an occultation was the triumph of night over day.
“Are you alright, Dr. Reid?”
Reid was shaken from this thoughts. This was the third time MODUS had asked. He kept his eyes on the screen, nictating membrane sliding shut for a moment.
“Yes. I am alright. It’s nothing, thank you MODUS.”
“I presume this is, in some way, related to the occultation? It is a perfectly natural phenomenon.”
Reid still did not turn to face the AI’s armored container.
“No, it’s something else. You wouldn’t, you couldn’t understand, because you are an AI. Be quiet now.”
MODUS did as instructed, and Reid returned his full focus to the occultation, gazing at the screen, trying to keep from blinking, not wanting to miss even the smallest fraction of a moment. He reached out with his hand, as though trying to touch the moon, the killing moon, the moon which had murdered the sun. He touched the screen and he felt as though he was touching the face of death. Of all the lifeforms on Earth watching the occultation that afternoon, he was perhaps the only one rooting for the moon. Stay, he thought, and banish the light, so we can be free from the hateful sun.
Totality ended after what seemed like a lifetime. The bright beads reappeared, like drops of golden blood dripping from a wound. The sun gradually reappeared, and Reid felt a sense of sadness. The sun, of course, was beautiful, but it was also harmful to his very existence. He wished totality had lasted longer. He did not turn away from the screen until the sun had fully reappeared and even then, his gaze lingered for a few moments, before he prepared himself a cocktail, mixing together blood from a blood pack and gin in a chilled glass.
Vampires are fascinated by eclipses.
Our deputy UCP ambassador will vote yes on Guiracocha’s amendment on CPR 2024 I and to the overall resolution. Moscow is not a safe city for the UCP.
The Orson Empire
1993
A young man, barely 18 by appearances, walked through the dark desert morning before sunrise. He was wearing a black suit and purple tie and had short white hair with a purple highlight and piercing red eyes and his light skin was almost radiant which together with his eyes made it feel like he probably wasn't a human, Orsonian, or Evolved. Especially with the patterns inside his irises having an artificial quality to them but still managing to avoid the uncanny valley. Another quality adding to the unnatural was how none of the sand and dirt lightly kicked up by the periodic gusts of wind at this time got on his suit and how well it avoided creasing. He approached an unassuming residential building on the edge of the city and knocked on the door politely waiting for an answer. He already knew the person living here was awake, and while it was rude to interrupt meditation he was certain that his interlocutor would appreciate the information he will provide especially in respect to the dangers his interlocutor's organization will face in their... Meditative Crusade.
(heres a picture of the character I shamelessly ripped from a game I play: https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/counter-side/images/7/73/Sysop.png/revision/latest?cb=20221226193148
To be fair, my versions have some differences)
Commander Swart sat at the poker table, looking at his cards on the table. He had been playing Texas Hold 'Em for a considerable amount of time now, on the last of five tables no less. Since the war ended, he took to gambling to get the rush that uncertain odds seemed to bring him, and gambling in a game where faking out your opponents was certainly one way to pass the time in the way he desired.
After all, violence was off the table. Since the peace treaty between the Grey Stone and Corsahnim, Swart had no real way to hurt something like he desperately wanted to. Pirates were his go-to, after all - before the treaty, they were barely considered as people, and he'd hunted them down with his squad for sport. That being absent from his life bored him out of his skull.
Thankfully, bar fights were common in local tournaments such as these - especially if he bluffed and played his cards right.
On the river was a Jack of Diamonds, a Two of Clubs, and a King of Diamonds. The last two at this table who were in the game - one of them an alien wearing a suit, presumably due to oxygen being toxic to them, and the other a hooded human wearing sunglasses as if he were some kind of high-roller - knocked on the table, the signal of a check. Swart looked at his hand and checked also, and the next card on the river was a Two of Spades. The alien put in some chips, the human matched, and Swart matched as well, his face devoid of all emotion.
The next card on the river was a Queen of Diamonds. The human bet more, as did the alien. Swart, however, put all of his chips in, his face ever stoic. In time, the two also put their chips in - after all, Swart had the highest amount, and they thought he'd been bluffing. When all bets were down, all three of them flipped their cards. The human had a three of a kind in twos, the alien had two pair in a Jack and a Queen.
Swart managed to win by a royal flush, having a Ten of Diamonds and an Ace of Diamonds in his hand. The human groaned, and the alien laughed. "Good game!" The alien remarked, his voice reveberating through the suit's voice modulator.
Later, Swart ended up buying the two of them drinks - the human a whiskey, and the alien some kind of acidic swill that only his kind could stomach. Swart was tempted to try the alien's stuff, but he decided against it, instead opting to hold down a lot of drinks before inevitably being denied.
Tonight, he'd won about twelve-hundred credits - a hefty profit compared to the fifty he initially put in. He spent three-hundred buying drinks for the two opponents he had and himself - fairly cheap drinks they were. Even the alien remarked at the quality of the puke-looking acidic swill. Swart figured even aliens that drank something that came out of what seemed to be a witch's cauldron in the advanced space age had some kind of taste.
His two companions left later on, but he stayed, reveling in his drunken stupor and watching the Corsahn Intergalactic Space Race on the screen above the bartender. He didn't had a favorite racer - didn't even care all that much for it. It just reminded him of the times that his team, Phoenix Squadron, chased pirates and destroyed their vessels. The Space Race even decided to put their course in the middle of an asteroid belt, each lap taking approximately ten minutes as each racer's perspective was showcased on the screen, pointless commentary being displayed as subtitles to hype up something meant to be as safe as humanly possible. Even if one of these guys crashed, each ship was equipped with a teleporter that activated instantly upon what would have been a fatal crash, taking the racer to safety aboard the 'mothership' (which was just a space station in the solar system), saving them from a rather quick and painless death. This had the added effect of encouraging the racers to be aggressive in their approach to the race - after all, they were essentially safe no matter what, so why worry about bumping into your rival just for the spectacle of it? They even talked trash to one another in the intercoms, though it was proven a long time ago that they had massive respect for one another.
There were two versions of the race: the public version, which is what Swart was watching now; and the uncensored version, which cost fifty credits for each race. It was reported that the uncensored races were quite hilarious, as this was the only version where one could hear the trash talk between the racers. Swart had seen an uncensored race once, and it reminded him of the military. Anything that reminded him of that time in his life was usually turned off in a near-instant, but he did end up taking a liking to one of the racers - an ex-military man by the name of Gerald Jenkins. In truth, it reminded Swart of his father figure, a CO who died in the Revolution that freed Corsahnim from the grip of the Library. The CO in question taught him a lot about leadership, and when and where to use violence when Swart first joined the Marines after his bouts with a gang in a city on his homeworld caused him to take a different approach to life.
Swart ordered another shot thinking of the CO, raising a drunken toast in the man's memory before blacking out and waking up on the floor next to his apartment door.
"Guess I overdid it that time," he said to himself, knowing full well he gets blackout drunk every time he drinks.
His holophone rang on his desk, and after groaning, rubbing his eyes and getting up, he answered it on the last possible ring. Appearing before him was the visage of Johnathan Corsahnim himself, and Swart stood at attention by reflex and force of habit.
"At ease, Commander," John ordered. "You know you don't have to do that."
"Force of habit, sir," Swart said, easing his stance. "What do you need?"
"Someone's going to visit you in an hour at your apartment. He's going to ask for your help - I gave him your declassified file and he took a liking to you."
"Declassed? What for?" Swart asked this question with a tone of caution, but deep down, the fire in his soul that yearned for excitement just got some new fuel.
"Why else? He's got a mission for you."
Hell. Yes. Swart couldn't help but smile. "I'll make sure to look presentable by then."
"With a face like that, that's a big ask," John said, shooting a joke toward Swart that didn't go unnoticed. Swart laughed.
"I'll keep in touch," Swart replied.
---
Delta Seven and Alexis Trenton reported to a hangar bay, one of the three that Johnathan marked for his private use. As the still-acting Commander-in-Chief of the Corsahn Army, as well as with the help of a few strings he managed to pull, John had the authority to make private some of the hangars on the busy artificial moon. In it was an older Freightliner vessel, a darker one with a blocky, bulky shape. Lilith, Delta Seven's in-built suit AI, scanned it and found it heavily modified, making it built for both maneuverability and combat. The ship wasn't registered under any known database, which made knowing who the owner was a difficult task.
The boarding ramp was open, and Delta Seven decided to walk up to it. He took one cautious step after the next, his curiosity getting the best of him. The clank of a gun against Delta Seven's helmet stopped him in his tracks, only seeing a small portion of the inside of the cargo bay. Where did this man come from? Delta Seven didn't notice him, and Lilith's scans didn't indicate anyone nearby. It was strange, but perhaps not impossible, given the nature of Delta Seven's mission.
"I suggest you get back with your lady friend and leave," a voice in the tenor vocal range said from behind Delta Seven.
"And who might you be?" Delta Seven asked the stranger. Alexis simply watched from the sidelines, either because she knew Delta Seven could handle this situation or because she didn't have a protective bone in her body toward him. The latter seemed more plausible.
"Doesn't matter," the man said. "Now go before I blast a crater-sized hole in that pretty power suit."
"Cardan, didn't you get the message briefing you on who this is?" Johnathan said, his voice booming from across the hangar bay as the door opened. "Didn't you read it?"
"I skimmed it," the man - Cardan - said to Johnathan, not letting up on the grip of his weapon. "What's that gotta do with invading my privacy?"
"I need a fast ship and a good pilot," Delta Seven responded. "I'm gathering a team of specialists for a mission."
"Never agreed to it, and I sure as hell didn't give you permission to go snooping in my ship," Cardan replied, tapping the back of Delta Seven's helmet. "Only agreed to hear you out."
"In that case, hear me out," Delta Seven replied back. "And put that thing down, you could hurt somebody."
"Get off my boarding ramp and I'll consider it."
Delta Seven acquiesced to the demand, but not before activating the upgrade to his suit that allowed him to dilate time to his advantage. In what seemed like a split second, he was behind Cardan, playfully tapping him on the shoulder before getting to the floor of the hangar. Cardan reacted by turning around quickly to fire at Delta Seven's center mass, but found the bullet denting the floor, the bullet flattening on impact rather than ricocheting.
"Even if you could manage to hit me," Delta Seven prodded, "force-based ammunition won't hurt me as bad as you think it will, nor will it hurt the people I plan to fight. I recommend HE rounds, or rapier-type armor piercing bullets."
"Don't tell me what to do, asshole."
"Just a suggestion," Delta Seven said with a shrug. "Anyway, you said you were gonna hear me out."
Cardan grunted and put his gun back in its holster. He was dressed like a space cowboy - a look that seemed out of place in the current time. He wore black leather, with a hat that had a metallic brim to it. His most distinct feature was his cybernetic right eye, an eye whose veins looked more like the circuits of a motherboard than an actual eye. Anybody who knew the current technological landscape knew that Cardan either operated in the Haven Territories in the not so distant past, or sought out the less than legal (not to mention the less than ethical) body modifications that pervaded the Corsahn black market. These particular enhancements were essential to anybody who wanted to work 'under the radar' of the government, whose citizens preferred the Mental Adaptation Units by and large. The Mental Adaptation Unit, or the MAU, was yet another body modification that relied more on nanobot technologies than crude bodily replacements such as Cardan's eye. At least, the last two iterations of the technology did - the first version of it was a hunk of metal that was implanted directly into the user's spine, which allowed it to enhance the nervous system of the user to a degree that allowed for a longer human lifespan and an enhanced quality of life in the form of increased mental and emotional health, hence being named the Mental Adaptation Unit. The second version was less visible, basically transforming the appendix into a nexus for the new-at-the-time nanotechnology to replicate itself - this left out a few million people and alien species from enjoying the benefits of the medical technology. It wasn't until the MAU Mark III that the nanotech that was utilized was completely self sufficient, which allowed all aliens and different breeds of humans to enjoy the benefits of biotechnological modification - the Mark III was also a very recent upgrade, created in the late 2280s in response to an event that practically annihilated a majority of the population who were unlucky enough to have an MAU Mark II in an area of the Corsahn Arm (the arm of the galaxy where the government resides) known as the Central Territories, which holds the Corsahn Capital World of Johnna.
The Grey Stone and the Haven Territories, which were past a line of Corsahn star systems called the Corsahn Edgeworlds, which marked the border between Corsahnim's section of the galaxy and the rest of the Hope Cluster, used the more crude method of application for body modification. While Corsahnim used the MAU for the most part, those in the Haven Territories utilized direct technological modification - that is, robot arms, legs, eyes, and even internal organs. The process to install these components were reported to be rather painful - sometimes so painful that around thirty-five to forty-five percent of those who try to install them end up dying from shock. The less than ethical part of the process comes in after the surgery to install the parts - the medicines used to recover from the surgery often cost a fortune, and since almost all of these surgeries are carried out on the pirate and black markets, not much can be done to alleviate the installation process's pains unless you are either rich or go through a process sponsorship. The way sponsorship works in the Haven Territories, and especially the Grey Stone, is that an individual would have to prove oneself to a mercenary group, a well-off pirate gang or other potential employers. Such a sponsorship also has its ethical issues - often, these employers don't really care if a person lives or dies through an installation process, and if a sponsored individual dies in the process, it's often the case that a few organs would get 'misplaced' before being released back to their families (if they have families), and these misplaced organs offset the cost of sponsorship, more often than not reaping the benefit most Haven Territory people are after, that benefit being profit. These modifications were often called Alternative Modification Units, or AMUs.
Delta Seven wondered what Cardan's story was. Who sponsored him? Was he sponsored, or was he born into money? These questions and more flooded Delta Seven's mind, but shook them away.
"Well, spit it out," Cardan said impatiently to Delta Seven.
"Alright, here's the deal," Delta Seven said, explaining the story behind Sentinel and the dual-nature of the galaxy - its growing darkness that is Oblivion and its waning light that is the Broken Sun, and how Sentinel sent a telepathic message warning Delta Seven to find and fight him, as well as the Chronosians that would prove a bigger obstacle to that goal as they were directly linked to Sentinel's darkened will.
After the explanation, Cardan was obviously deep in thought, probably considering his options. After a moment, Cardan looked to Delta Seven, asking, "if I survive this, how much would I be getting paid?"
Renovations at my store are making my asthma brutal this morning, on top of me moving (only a couple miles away from my current place, not anywhere special.) causing me to not get restful sleep and to be mildly delirious this morning from the lack of restful sleep causing me to get burned by the bakery oven already less than an hour into my shift.
And I have more moving stuff to do today after work.
Oh, and the burn is minor, a light grazing of a knuckle on the oven door just a case of keeping first aid antibiotic on it and covering it with a bandage (water resistant because I need to constantly wash my hands since I work with food.).
Interesting! I am curious as to what happens next.
Oooh, cyborg cowboys! Fascinating. It's interesting that they use equipment with such a high failure rate; "modern" implants by Ryan Industries have a very low failure rate. But then again, those are meant for Humans and Orsonians, not Evolved.
Oh no! I'm sorry Oceara! I hope the burn heals quickly and without more irritation (and that your asthma improves), and I also hope your move goes well! I've only ever "moved" in and out of my dorm rooms, but they still were all-day affairs. Hopefully you can get better sleep tonight!
An Orsonian woman answered the door. She wore a brown Kāhu-Tarāu, a mask concealing most of her face so only her crimson-colored eyes were visible. She stared in silence right into the young man's eyes for 10 full seconds, as if closely scrutinizing him, before speaking.
"Friend, or foe?"
Grand Master:
The Grand Master is the highest-ranking official within the Silent Crusaders. Her true identity is unknown to anyone, even West African authorities, and her very existence is the subject of rumors and speculation. The Grand Master's followers simply refer to her as Mahita, meaning "master" or "teacher" in the Orsonian language.
The Grand Master was born in 1896 in the Orson Empire. In 1914, she enlisted in the Feminist Brigades, a paramilitary organization fighting for women's suffrage and equality worldwide, and which viewed the First World War as an excellent opportunity to change the status quo for all women.
She was deployed to West Africa, where she distinguished herself in ferocious combat against the IMC military, and was even awarded a medal for gallantry. She was one of the many kuimāta ("women warriors") who marched to the Imperial Palace in 1918, petitioning Empress Alinta Jackson to spare Mali from partition. Due to spending years fighting within West Africa and participating in its revolution, she developed an intense fascination with Malian culture.
During the interwar period, she continued her service in the regular Imperial Army and was promoted to an NCO. She made several trips to Mali during this time, meeting up with old friends she made during the Revolution. The resumption of hostilities in World War Two caused immense sorrow for the Grand Master, forced to turn against the revolutionary state she had helped create. Nevertheless, with stoic determination and loyalty to her true homeland, she returned to the frontlines.
In 1943, the Grand Master was captured as a POW after he unit was cut off and surrounded during a surprise Malian offensive, spending the rest of the war in a Malian POW camp. She vowed never to set foot on Orsonian soil again, believing she had disgraced her comrades-in-arms, the Orsonian state, and the Orsonian people by surrendering, and hoped to redeem herself within Mali.
The Grand Master contacted other Orsonian POW's who felt similarly dishonorable. They believed in a "great unconscious truth" within Malian society that allowed them to achieve seemingly impossible victories on the battlefield and permitted their society to survive despite being challenged relentlessly by the Orsonian military machine, and dedicating themselves to studying this truth. Thus, the Silent Crusaders were established.
Oceara, Cybus1, and Novo Wagondia
The man smiled warmly and replied. "Friend. I have information that will be crucial for your crusade. Although.. for time loop stability reasons I would refrain from speaking such information while outside."
The more he spoke and stood before her, the clearer it would become that he's from somewhere deep within existence itself. A place accessible not below or above but within. Like information within a meditation made manifest and taking a visit to the 'surface'. Wherever he's from though it's far, far deeper than she's ever reached. It's also clear that he's also technological in nature, indicating he might've originated on the surface and went deep but lost his original form and now exists as this sort of manifested information.
The Haven Territories, before Corsahnim decided to commit to an outreach program to go beyond the Corsahn Arm, was very decentralized and full of corruption. It won't be until around the 2350s that the failure rate of AMUs gets lessened - and I'm thinking that Ryan Industries at around this time period can help, funded by the Corsahn government of course.
This story takes place in the 2330s, specifically 2331 if memory serves (I might be wrong about that but too lazy to look it up rn)
The Grand Master could tell this man's intentions were genuine, if he was indeed a man at all. She could sense something anomalous about it, and he was at least partially technological.
"Come inside," she said, stepping aside to allow the man in. He would find the home's interior to be spartan; the Grand Master rejected consumerism, and her possessions were only those absolutely necessary to carry out her mission. There were no electronics in the living room- not any visible ones, at least.
He admired the simplicity of the living room as he entered, this Grandmaster reminded him of his Father.. Albeit with less technology. He adjusted his tie as he turned back to face the Grandmaster. "I am Sysop, Would you rather start with pleasantries, the information I have to provide you, or with me explaining my interest in providing you information?"
"Information first," the Grand Master replied.
Sysop nodded and then spoke "Half of all existence and possibility for existence is immersed in an endless abyss of never-ending abstractions in an endless pursuit of order. It's not above or below, but within all the rest of existence. There, in what may be more easily referred to as the inner sphere is where you will find your greatest strength and greatest insights into the truth you are searching for... However, between here and there is an obstacle you must be careful to avoid. Carcosa. Beware the masked liar that looms in the dreams of those on the precipice of knowing this inner power and the golden hell his deceit will bring upon those who follow him. Carcosa's god is one who destroys minds and enslaves souls to enact an eternal play in a way to mimic the way he perceives existence to be at it's most fundamental -- a play."
Fainberg has agreed to the meeting, and has secretly arranged to meet with Von Seeckt at Pulkovo Observatory in the suburbs of Saint Petersburg. The observatory is currently undergoing renovations so there will be little suspicion.
Colonel Von Seeckt arrived, in a beater car and in plainclothes rather than his official Imperial Army overcoat. He was a thin, gaunt-looking gentleman, with a slightly skeletal face. He was an ardent monarchist, but was known for being very critical of the Lucijan military, constantly urging his counterparts to modernize, to invest heavily in energy weapons research, and to generally undertake reforms. Despite the criticisms, he was a firm supporter of the Cybusian-Lucijan alliance, and had helped smooth over several Cybusian military feathers ruffled in Tsingtao when the remnants of the Lucijan Pacific Fleet were rather loosely “interned”. He removed a device from his civilian coat, a Cybusian jamming device. He activated it, before politely bowing.
“Good evening President Fainberg. Thank you for coming. I have several proposals to put forth. First; your military performance is frankly quite unimpressive. Offensives must be undertaken, and your men are seemingly fighting a war of a previous generation rather than a modern war. To remedy this, you need to change up your training regimens. Next…”
After this very bland and somewhat obvious suggestion, he paused and pulled out a tablet, turning it on and typing in a code. Evidently this was why he had actually wanted to meet.
“Forgive me, but I am not particularly trusting of your counter-intelligence service; no offense intended, but one can never be too careful. My other suggestions are on this. Read it here, give me a response, and if you are satisfied, I shall destroy it to ensure it does not fall into enemy hands; if you must have a copy to consult, you may take the memory chip out.”
The tablet was a cheap one, and was not connected to any networks. A document -the only actual data on the tablet at all- was open, in Russian. Citing Torchwood reports, it argued that the airstrikes in and Vladivostok were clearly Orsonian. In retaliation, it proposed a simultaneous strike by 3 converted Cybusian Gamayun drones on strategic FLG-controlled targets, operating from the newly leased Nagurskoye Air Base. One target proposed was the newly conquered Ignotov Aluminum Works, alongside other industrial and logistical targets. Ideally, this would be coordinated with Lucijan aircraft and ground assets as part of a larger offensive campaign to retake territory controlled by the FLG.
The second proposal was less concrete, being dependent on the location being decided later; the secret installation and activation of a ZAX series supercomputer somewhere in Lucijan territory (or, possibly just over the Polish border) to assist in formulating strategies, collecting and analyzing battlefield and counterintelligence information, and generally providing the Tsarist regime superior computational abilities, something Seeckt believes they are -relatively- lacking.
The third proposal proposed -fairly simply, and certainly the least complicated- the sending of underperforming Tsarist officers to Cybusian training facilities in Poland, Czechia, and Germany, to be given training in Cybusian style combat both tactical and strategic, counter-insurgency techniques, and other such things. The officers would be disguised and given false identities; they would be “fired” for incompetence, only to be discreetly rehired and out back into service after their training was complete. This same model could also be applied to other fields and industries if necessary.
2015:
The Vanlikian government has instituted several programs to better the life of its citizens, to try to live up to the standards of the revolution. All Vanlikian citizens will receive a free telescreen, an interactive TV used for the transmission of news and entertainment to all homes across Vanlik. Free goods known as Victory goods will be made available freely to all citizens; such items include Victory Cigarettes, Victory Serum -a supposedly Regenex-like product-, Victory Vodka, Victory Gin, Victory Coffee, and Victory Tea. There are also measures being taken to create free personal vehicles, Victory Cars and Victory Shuttles.
Simultaneously, an effort has been to introduce a new form of “Revolutionary Speech” or, RevSpeak for short. This is a shortened and abbreviated form of speaking, eliminating terms deemed superfluous or subversive, in keeping with Tomas Issak’s desire for a “complete revolution, overturning every aspect of capitalism imaginable, including language”. For instance, the Comissarist for Proletarian Security is shortened in RevSpeak to ComiProleSec or ComiProle, while the Commissariat for Health is ComiHealth. Terms like “bad” or “horrible” have been deemed superfluous, in favor of “ungood” a more efficient and direct way of expression. Modifiers such as “plus ungood”, or, for stronger condemnation, “doubleplus ungood” exist. The Vanlikian Communist Party is shortened to VaniCom, and Supreme Proletarian is shortened to SupProle.
RevSpeak has proven rather unpopular so far, but many government communiques (including intelligence reports from Vanlikian agents) are being sent in RevSpeak, and efforts are being made to try to induce Vanlikian citizens to avoid using the old way of speaking, which has been dubbed CapSpeak or Capitalist Speech.
By the time the Vanlikians make contact with the Orsonians, RevSpeak would not be fully adopted, but would be more prevalent, and ComiFor (Commissariat for Foreign Affairs) would reluctantly use “CapSpeak” when addressing Orsonian counterparts, while encouraging the adoption of RevSpeak. In RevSpeak, the People’s Republic of Orson is ProleRepOrson, while the Orsonian Communist Party is OrsoCom.
Fainberg listened closely to each of the proposals, pausing before continuing.
"Your suggestions are well founded, Colonel. I agree that our military performance, particularly on offense, has been flagging. We have also failed to secure the hearts and minds of the people, though your government's help on that front is appreciated, and has started to make a difference in strategic areas.
As I did with Ambassador Kornilov, I will refuse to make any promises to you. There can be no absolute assurances in Lucija. But I can tell you the following — through me, you have the ear of the regent, and he is sympathetic to your position. He is a man of principle, devoted to the preservation of the Tsardom.
But you must be wary, of the Prime Minister and his circle of oligarchs. They do not wish to see any power ceded to foreign actors, and will jealously cling to their operational control. They despise the Grand Duke, and will seize at any opportunity to discredit him."
- - -
Meanwhile, just a few streets away from the shuttered observatory, an unmarked car was slowly making its way through the area, driven by two rebel sympathizers attached to a Saint Petersburg partizan cell. In the back seat, a powerful listening device from the Cold War era was aimed at the surrounding buildings, picking up on any conversation within 200 meters' radius. They had been tipped off by Malian intelligence that an off-the-books meeting was being arranged between the Cybusian embassy and high-level contacts in the Tsarist government, and had been on patrol since dawn in hopes of chancing across such an encounter — one of at least a dozen vehicles on the road that morning.
It was just their luck that they happened to be passing by the observatory while Von Seeckt and Fainberg were speaking, and quickly caught on that this was not a civilian conversation. They heard an allusion to a tablet, but could not know what information it contained. As per their orders, one of the men remained in the vehicle, now idling just 75m away from the osbervatory, while the other exited quietly, screwing a silencer onto his Makarov pistol.
Oceara, Cybus1, and Novo Wagondia
«12. . .4,7654,7664,7674,7684,7694,7704,771. . .4,7744,775»
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