21st Century RomeBoard

The Golden Directive

The Director looked forward seeing not the office in front of him, but a scene from his youth.

Sand, sand filled everything, his ears, his eyes, his fingernails, he didn't even realize there could be this much sand anywhere on this world. On the arid plains of the North African Sahara. And the sun! The only mercy from that ever-prevalent scorching body was the shadow his father cast behind him as he walked forward through the sand dunes.

The Director tried to speak but found his voice only cracked and a bit of liquid ran down his throat, he swallowed for the first time in what seemed like days he'd have something to drink. His father turned back to him as he made the noise, "It's not much further now, we'll be at the Red Sea Port soon enough."

He stumbled forward and drew his loose robe around himself, walking like a ghost among the sands in the high summer heat.

As night fell a distant fire became visible on the horizon, and through the midsummer delirium, he saw what seemed to be the outline of a great city. A city built from the foundations of sandstone, and arched spires. He turned to his father and saw that the man was staring at the same thing. He seemed to be looking through the city somehow, as though he already knew the reason they were there. The Director supposed he did, and as that great city came into view he came to realize it was in shambles. A sundered ruin that once harboured the lives of thousands, maybe more. His father noticed his expression and turned to him, "The river that used to run through this place eroded the riverbed over a millennium ago. The people had to move further south and that is why we are here today."

"Because the people left?"

"Because there is no one here."

The Director looked at his father, his face turning red with alarm. The old man began walking towards an aged waterway, where only a trickle ran through now and led his son through it towards a Classical Era Roman Aqueduct. The boldest project the classical empire had ever tried to complete, a system to bring life to these harsh lands. A boldest project, one that failed, at least here. Further south there were the new cities of the Red Sea which expanded on the foundations laid down by the Roman Emperors of old. The Director's father looked on as the aged aqueduct followed the dry riverbed through to the south. He turned to his son and spoke, "There is a man waiting for you from North America. I need you to go with him, and I need you to follow this one rule for me, can you do that?"

The Director stopped in his tracks sending out clouds of sand and dust about him, "What? Father why?"

"I can't support you my son, the officials from the north are closing in. It's time for you to head home."

"But, this is my home with you!"

"No, it's time to return to the home of our ancestors. I hope they'll understand why I left."

"What are you saying?"

"We are from Azoris, my boy. I worked as a part of their secret service for all my years. I thought that we'd finally be free of them, at least here."

There was the sound of galloping far, far in the distance, "Go now my son, and remember two things, one I will always love you. And the second is the Golden Directive, there will be a large war in your lifetime, it will be started after the hate caused by a false war has been given time to fester. Go, now!"

The Director clung to his father's robes even as he heard the galloping noise come closer until finally his father pushed him away and pointed towards the aqueduct system. He waited numbly as a group of black-robed officials dressed in full desert attire approached his father in the center of the ruined town. One of them drew a flintlock pistol and fired it, instantly hitting his father in the head.

The Director did not watch, he ran, straight to the aqueduct systems and ran, and ran, and ran.

Days later, or hours, he could no longer tell the ice within him began to thaw. The first thing he could feel was a pang of thirst as he looked out across the empty sands, the faint dots of civilization had faded and he could go no further. The last thing he recalled was the bitter taste of iron, and the sweet comforting pillow of the sand...

That is until he awoke once more, a strange man was sitting on the far side of a craft, as a sloshing sound struck against the side he tried to get a good look at his surroundings but only saw a desert of water. Disbelief filled his chest as he took in the expanse of liquid that rippled out to the horizon, perhaps he was in heaven, or hell but this was not a place of this world. He let his hold on consciousness slip as he fell back into the miasma of dream.

"This is the boy?"

The Director's eyes opened and he looked around and saw puffy clouds, and cold blue skies. And an even colder face looked down at him, "Yes this looks right, how did you recover M3A's son?"

The man who brought him from Africa looked at the cold faced one, who looked to be some sort of security guard, "His father wanted to keep him safe, so he fled apparently. Something went wrong, and now he wants us to raise him into the agency."

The security guard looked at him quizzically, "So he was caught, and he wants us to deal with the remains?"

"Yes."

"Can we do that?"

"There's a vacancy in the Intelligence Service Academy, he's going to need stellar grades to pass, however. Especially with the likes of Gregorian Voldyemre and the sort heading there, and carrier why did you do this, why was this so important to you?"

The Carrier smiled, "I am repaying a debt to his father."

"Must've been one hell of a debt."

The Carrier nodded then looked down at the Director and then grabbed a water bottle from out of view and passed it to him. The guard on the other hand looked aghast as he saw the boy had woken up. He gave a deep sigh and whispered, "Oh boy, if only you knew what you were getting yourself into..."

Oh he did...

A century of beating the odds and climbing to the top of an organization he infiltrated in his youth, not just infiltrated but had come to love. In his time the Director reflected he managed to pull the strings to prevent a great war of the sort that his father had warned him of. Only now things seemed to be getting ahead of themselves, the False War may've already happened.

The vision from his youth faded and he was once again an aged man, an ancient man by any standards, a man who should have been resting on some sunny resort in a southern sea. Instead he was here, contemplating whether this action would save Azoris or damn it to a gradual decline.

Julia Voldymere was a threat to the entire nation. The Director looked at the holographic 3D Display on his desk and waved a hand sending the profile spinning across the office before fizzling out. Whether she would cause the Great War he was tasked to prevent or not didn't matter in the long run. Giving the Voldymere this much influence would result in a Nationalist coalition which could last for centuries, as the Libertarian-Monarchist one had already. He looked at the phone on his desk and took a deep breath, knowing this could be his last act...

And he grabbed it, dialling the Tsar's number and waited for him to answer. Every ring down the secure line hammered into his chest like a hammerblow to the heart. Finally the line clicked and he went through, "Ah Director, I've been expecting to hear from you, how have things been?"

The Director spoke tensely, "My Tsar, do you remember when I told you of the Golden Directive and - "

"The Golden Directive, that is the order you've structured the ACEA around, of course I remember it."

"I may have to invoke the article, there is a threat to Azorisian stability deep within our halls."

The Tsar sounded unsettled, "How deep are we talking here?"

"The source has direct access to you and even more so to your son."

Aurelian paused, "And who is this?"

"Julia Voldymere, Chair of the Nationalist Party."

Aurelian replied in a clipped tone, "Do not speak over these lines, meet me in Issnicia, you know where to discuss this further."

"If this does not go through, I will be forced to activate the Golden Directive, Article III - Article V. I have strong sources cornfirming that this is a multi-generation powerplay to reach the throne sire."

"We will speak of this further before any action is taken."

The End of a Dynasty

"And do we have any possible leads on this case?"

"Sire, have we gotten the blood test results back?"

"Yes, and we've found there was an extraordinarily high amount of Cortisol in the sample."

The man looked nervously towards the Director, "Hmm, what's that there in the sample is that an opioid I see there?"

"Well, they are accessible sire."

The man looked towards the Director his physician robes flowing around him in the style of an old-world doctor, "I must ask you, why did you want there not to be a public doctor present?"

"Julia Voldymere, was and will always be someone who captures the heart and soul of Azoris. I don't think anyone should have to see her in this state."

The Physician looked towards the petite blonde form that lay sprawled out across the stone table. The faint light that filtered through the shaded windows let in only enough light to see her shadowed and hallowed form. The vibrant, fiery woman who ran the Nationalist Party of Azoris, was dead. The Director couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt, but even still it was necessary but it is - well was the Voldymere's we are talking about."

"You know this is going to cause waves, don't you Director?"

The Director nodded, "It's a shame she took her own life, as you've said such a high level of coristol in the blood sample you've received we should look towards making some new aide programs for people who need it."

The Physician looked towards the body and then towards the Director, "We should let her rest for now. We'll deal with the funeral processions in time, I want to see the Tsar's remarks."

The Physician led the Director out of the shadowy room towards one that didn't reek of loss, or maybe there wasn't any smell in there at all. The Director could no longer tell. He stepped into a long corridor built in the fashion of an old cathedral, great panes of stained glass lined the side of the hall. Causing the sun to reflect vividly in a hue of colours from antifreeze to the coldest icy snows they all could be seen through the lens of the stained glass. The Director looked towards the Physician, "Dr. Markov, thank you for letting me pay my respects today."

Markov looked towards the Director, "You better know what you're doing Director. I wouldn't have agreed to write out your report if you hadn't been so persuasive."

Markov steps into the hall letting his figure be covered in the greenish hues of the antifreeze colored lights, his grey clothes springing to life as though he was standing in a woodland clearing at midday, "But you were persuasive, a multi-generational plan to end the Boyle dynasty. Normally, I would consider such things to be a conspiracy theory."

The Director stepped forward letting the bright green light wash over him, as though it could wash away the darkness he'd inherited from committing such an act, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dr. Markov raised an eyebrow and the nodded, lapsing into silence. He tapped on something in his wristwatch and sent the report through a private channel to the Tsar Aurelian. It'd give him just enough time to skim through the results of the tests before giving his remarks.

Markov looked towards the Director then pointed towards a yellow door which looked polished to the brim, "In there, I'll bring us some drinks."

The Director stepped into the room and sat down at a glass table, in front of a high resolution television a bit dated but it would be fine for the recording they were going to watch. At precisely 16:00 the boring drawl of public/private television broadcasting came to a halt, and instead, a well-dressed man in pitch black appeared on the screen, the man was sitting at a mohangany desk in front of a fireplace, a large bookshelf covered the rest of the screen. Through the dying embers of the flames, orange and black lights danced across the man's face. His face as vivid and restrained as his voice was, "Citizens of Azoris, we interrupt your regular broadcasting to bring you an important message. The Chair of the Nationalist Party, Julia Voldymere is dead, for official information please turn to channel 404 within 5 minutes to hear the Tsar's remarks. Thank you, and may she rest in peace."

Markov stepped inside of the viewing room and tapped something on his wrist watch, the screen flickered and showed a view from the Botanical Gardens. This time there was no eloquent stage, only a string of white and black ribbons, and a lone sword driven through into the snow. The Tsar looked forward his face ashen, "Today Azorisians, we lost a truly great woman, her devotion to you, the people of Azoris, her ceaseless focus and drive will be remembered and shall serve as a benchmark which the rest of us shall hold ourselves to. The Voldymere Dynasty may have come to an end but the things they stood for, hope, purpose, meaning, and the love of others shall endure from now to the end of time. It shall endure through us and ours."

The Tsar took a step back almost as though his voice might break before steadying himself, "I've known Julia ever since she was born, and I know the great things she could've done. Which is why I want to plea with you citizens of Azoris. It has been discovered that Julia had taken her own life, I want to make sure that nothing like this happens again, starting today we will be rolling out the Voldymere Redeemer Act which increases aid for mental health services and provides a provincial level UBI for the province of Issnicia of 2000 dollars per month. This money will ensure that no one is put into undue stress due to financial concerns or monetary issues."

The Tsar fell into silence and stepped back keeping his head low as he did, several other Government officials stepped forward to give their closing remarks.

Dr. Markov turned off the screen abruptly.

"This was planned, wasn't it?"

The Director looked forward remaining silent.

The Golden Boy of Azoris

The Tsar-Apparent Aekoya looked down at the petite blonde form that lay limply behind a pane of glass, or a world apart. Days had passed since he was first ushered into a brightly lit alcove, furnished with white-gold and faded green wallpaper, among other eccentric tastes. But the decorations didn't matter what did was the ancient, decrepit man who sat on the edge of his seat at the small table in the center of the room. His face hooded as though he couldn't bear to let the light reach his features. His voice surprisingly gentle as though he was trying not to scare off a hinterland deer, "My boy, come have a seat."

Aekoya looked around the room and behind him, seeing that the shadowy man who had brought him here at disappeared as though he'd received some unknown signal, he probably had. Seeing no choice, Aekoya went and took a seat beside the aged Director of the ACEA. He raised his head slightly trying to stave off any feelings of unease he felt from being in such close proximity to the man, "I wish it wasn't me who had to tell you this."

The Director shook his head as though preparing himself to lift some great burden. Aekoya intervened, sheer nerves forcing him to try and make light of the situation, "Why is it every time I go out on a hunt trip for a week or so, something happens? Come on the Yukon is not that cursed..."

The Director did not laugh his expression completely hidden by the hood he wore, "I know how close you were to Julia Voldymere."

Aekoya stopped, not just stopped talking, but stopped seeing, stopped understanding what the Director was implying. Was this it, some final play for power by the intelligence apparatus to remove him from the line of succession it seemed too far removed to be possible, but with the way everyone's been acting since he's been home perhaps not. Perhaps this really was it.

He closed his hand concealing a golden ring which he intended to give to Julia, only to come back to reality with the Director uttering one word, "Dead."

Aekoya spoke uncomprehendingly, "Julia is dead?"

The Director looked down at his hand, "Yes. She is, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, I knew you two were very close."

"We were going to get married, sire."

The Director froze, this could've been a massive misstep. The immediate threat had been extinguished but the programs which had been instituted would not be enough to dissuade an Imperial Prince, the masses could be placated, but Aekoya was another case. The Tsar-Apparent looked up towards him, "Do you know who did it?"

He reached a hand across the table and grasped the Tsar's Apparent's still arm, a gesture of reassurance and sympathy, "All our current sources state that she took her own life."

"Impossible. We were planning out our marriage, our lives together just before I left. I was going to tell my father, well today actually."

The Director hesitated a moment trying to think of something, "We found a diary she had left in a trust compartment at the Bank of Issnic. It was harrowing, still, I want to let you know my Golden Boy of Azoris, we are here if you need us and we are making sure nothing like this happens again. Your father is planning to expand mental health services for the people even as we speak."

"You were in on it."

The Director blinked, masking his growing dread, "I beg your pardon."

"You know who killed her, or were probably involved in it yourself."

The Director shook his head, "No sire, we had our eye on her because of the inflammatory rhetoric she was spreading but there is no need for us to do that after all, you can say what you will."

"I remain unconvinced."

Aekoya stood up and left the room, before he left he felt someone brush past him and in the faintest voice he could imagine, "Will he be alright?"

"Yes, he'll be fine."

But that was several days ago.

The Tsar-Apparent's eyes were as chilly as the icy winds around him. He looked towards his father as he delivered the closing remarks to the private press, and the state reporters. Ice-blonde locks of hair blocked his vision even as he stared forward listening to the empty words detailing an extensive safety net for the people.

He looked back towards the petite form and then glanced away, a timid looking reporter crept forward, "My Imperial Prince, is it true, were you about to be married?"

Aekoya looked towards the reporter steeling his composure, "Yes, it's true."

A gust of snow swept between them, separating them for a moment as the reporter went to speak again. As the snow settled she looked increasingly uncertain of what she was about to say, Aekoya looked at her then let his gaze wander caring not whether or not she asked the next question.

"And what are you going to do to preserve her memory?"

Aekoya looked at the reporter, "I will do whatever it takes."

The reporter nods and goes to step back, "I've heard that she was the last of the Voldymeres does that mean that their family lineage has come to an end?"

Aekoya clenched the ring in his hand, "No, I will formally adopt the last name Voldymere. In her memory."

The reporter blinked, "Is this a spur of the moment decision?"

"No, I've thought about this for days, and the things they've stood for have always resonated within my personality, loyalty, self-actualization, love, I don't want to see that fade away."

"What about the Boyles? What about your family?"

"There are other Boyles out there the family line will continue, and I have every right to do this."

The reporter nodded, "As you will then Aekoya Voldymere."

Aekoya smiled, feeling lighter, this unorthodox move will have preserved the power structure of Azoris for decades to come. Even if his father doesn't see it now.

"Will there be any issue of succession?"

"Only if I'm removed from the line, other than that everything will carry on as before."

...

The Director looked at the report on his desk and simply couldn't restrain himself, the Imperial Prince of Azoris, the Golden Boy, was a Voldymere. The very thing which almost brought about a schism unheard of since the one centuries ago. The Director checked the records confirming that it was entirely possible, although entirely unheard of. Then again, none of the great families had ever been on the precipice of extinction before now. The Voldymere's had been saved once again by an Aekoya, perhaps for the second time in Azoris' history.

Had the Golden Directive merely been a century of Voldymere scheming to get themselves to the throne, had the Director played directly into their hand. The aged man put his head in his hands thinking of the sheer absurdity of the past week and the great changes that had taken place, the Boyle dynasty would come to an end with Aurelian, and the birth of another with Aekoya.

He skimmed through the files and looked at Julia's once more and saw a picture of her laughing at something or another, he sighed inwardly to himself, acknowledging that it was she who got the last laugh.