Chronicles of the Philosopher Kings VI: The Final Battle

[Helmling]

Introduction

This is the final chapter in the Chronicles of the Philosopher Kings. It was a completely planned pair of trilogies just like Star Wars (just like my hero George Lucas I planned to create something really cool and then go back and ruin it).

Philosopher Kings FAQ:

What are the Philosopher Kings anyway?

Geesh, people don’t read anymore. In Plato’s Republic, the Philosopher Kings are the class of rulers who will guide his perfect society. They are rulers dedicated to philosophy, the love of knowledge, and to the pursuit of an understanding of the ultimate Good. So I have taken this intriguing notion from ancient philosophy and sullied it by using the term as the name of my civilization in a computer game. What’s more, I’ve been doing it for 10 years!

Can I read the other stories about the Philosopher Kings?

Yes, and no. The first story was posted on another message board (which has since been cyber-demolitioned) and apparently not backed up. It was a smaller game from back when I had a 500Mhz system and couldn’t run a 16 player map, but it was interesting game and I remember it like it was yesterday. Well, no, I guess I don’t or else I could redo the story, sorry…I lied. (I do remember it was one of the few times I built nukes because the Iroquois kept trying to move 150 cavalry in one stack through my colonial territory to sack some English city so I kept a tactical nuke or two handy in case they stopped responding to my demands to get out…yeah, good times, good times.)

Here, though, are links to the other stories:

Volumes 2 and 3 – no pictures, sorry
Volume 4: Helmling Strikes Back! – much better, I think
Volume 5: A World at War – a frickin’ masterpiece…or I like to tell myself that because it took FOREVER to write.

Why is this the end?

New Year’s Resolution. No more Civ. Ever…{sniff}…oh, god, I told myself I wouldn’t cry…

What were the starting conditions and rules for the game?

Glad you asked:
Huge map (posted below)
16 Random Players (The approximate start locations of each are noted on the map below. Thank god there were no Koreans! That’s not a racial slur or anything, it’s just that they’re scientific and commercial just like my Greeks, so they’re always right alongside me in tech and it makes me want to…oh, right, back to the game stats)
Standard Geography and Age
Continents with 70% water
Roaming barbarians
Emperor Difficulty
Ironman (at least, I can’t remember doing any weenie save/loads)

What sort of format will you use for the story?

I will have sixteen chapters, one from the point of view of a representative of each of the 16 civs in the game. Oh, and the calendar for the game will be PE for Pre-Expansionary period and EE for Expansionary Era, dated from the time that the Philosopher Kings began expanding outward from their homelands (that worked out nicely, don't you think?).

Will you shut up already?

Um, ok…without further delay, on to the story…(actually there will be further delay because my wife just reminded me I have to put up a shelf, but I swear this is the last parenthetical!)

 

[Helmling]

The Old English Soldier
English Colony of Dover, the Zulu Coast, 840 EE

“Thomas saw one in the street, didn’t you Thomas,” the boy said excitedly. I sat removed from the boys as they chattered, wondering if I should speak, wondering if they might want an old man’s opinion.
“And it didn’t kill you!” one of his friends exclaimed.
Thomas only shook his head. He was rarely so quiet. He stooped his head, as if to shake off their questions. Then he looked at me.
“What did it do?”
“I saw Olde Peter,” he began. “the wheel had fallen off his cart, like before. It was stuck in the slush.”
“But what did it do to him!”
“Did it eat him!”
“No,” Thomas answered them. “It helped him.”
“What?” they recoiled in disbelief. The hearth was crackling now. I reached out to prod the fire. I knew the cold would be creeping in as the sunlight vanished outside. This place was too cold for us. Too long I had lived in exile here, too long had I watched my grandchildren—these boys—grow up in the frozen wastes.
“Grandfather,” Thomas asked. He had drawn close to me while my attention had been fixed on the fire.
“Yes, Thomas?”
“Are they devils like everyone says?”
I grunted at him. The other boys gathered around in hushed attention. “Devils?”
“The one I saw today…he did not seem like a devil.”
I nodded. “I think our people call them that because of what they did to us. As a race, our pride has been wounded. So we lash out, call those who bested us ‘devils.’”
“But they have to be,” one of the other boys protested. “To have beaten us. They can’t be men!”
“They’re men,” I assured him. “But they are…different somehow.” I looked to the fire for a moment then back to the anxious eyes of these children, these boys who would someday be men, living under their rule. “Once, long ago, we English called them the people of the Southern River. They called themselves Greeks then and their homelands were spread from source to delta of the southernmost river. The old stories say they were unassuming, quiet merchants and scribes. England never feared them in those times long before the war. They had no deposits of iron throughout their territories and they seemed to have no greed in their hearts. Even their traders would never indulge in finery. They counted it a higher good to give back to the state, by giving over their earnings to improve their city of Claudia.



“Still,” I continued. “They were known to be formidable warriors. All their citizens were soldiers. They trained in units called hoplites, which no one dared challenge. But the might of these armies was purely defensive and they had no weapons to arm a great body of men, so we thought them a weak neighbor. Had their valley been more temperate, surely the English lords would have plundered it and none of this would have happened.”
“I don’t understand, grandfather,” Thomas asked. “If this is all they were, then…”
“How did things become as they are?” He nodded. “Patience, son. You have heard of their leader.”
“The nameless one!”
“Oh, he has a name, but so much have they harmed our people that we make his name a curse.”
“But surely he is a devil…he never dies!”
“That is what they say. To be sure, he has ruled them from the beginning of their civilization until now. Whatever they are, he made them into it. They had no iron, but they did become master horsemen. Long ago the rumors began to be told throughout our kingdom that the Greeks had built a great white temple and that no foreigners were allowed inside it, but that always assembling and training in its shadow was a great host of horsemen. The story was that the magic of their gods brought these horsemen greater strength than mortal men. I doubt their gods had any more power than ours to make their warriors great, but I know this, the Greek cavalry became the most fearsome and dedicated soldiers from any territory under this sun, from here to the dark jungles beyond Egypt. Still, our people took little notice of them, as they seemed only to care about their own affairs. Then, there was another great building opened in their capital.
“A tremendous library. Again, the stories told of magics beyond our understanding. It was said that every word written anywhere in creation, even by the gods, appeared on parchment within its walls. The truth was harder to learn. Few of the scholars from our kingdom who trekked to their city to study ever returned; they became so enamored of the learning the place offered that they forsook their heritage and ceased to call themselves English.”
“What did they call themselves?”
“They became like them, like the Greeks…they called themselves Philosopher Kings. They came to believe as the Greeks did.”
“What do they believe?” a boy asked in a raspy voice, as if he was fearful.
“They call themselves ‘the Nation.’ They believe they are the only one, that all the world belongs to them.” I let them stir with this idea for a moment before I went on. “A thousand years ago, settlers from our country traveled through their lands and founded a city on a jut of land they called the Outer Becker Peninsula. We named it Brighton. The old stories say that things changed after that. The leader of these Greeks had never sent a message to our kings before, but now he did. He told them the peninsula was theirs and that England must turn over control of it. The king at the time, he thought that the war would begin right then, but it did not. He rejected the demand and all remained quiet. But for centuries afterward, the kings and queens of England dreaded that quiet. It was like the calm before a great storm. They were always afraid that storm would come soon, with the sounds of thundering hooves bearing down on our nation.
“One great queen, Elizabeth III, sought to put our people at ease. She began the building of a great wall to keep the Philosopher Kings from ever thinking they might invade England. It was the greatest accomplishment of our country. Vast networks of fortifications guarding every approach to our heartland. A lesser was was even built to protect the peninsula. Out people thought they were safe forever from the people of the River then. No horsemen, no matter how crazed by devotion to their dark god or leader or whatever he is, would dare challenge our Great Wall.”
“What happened, grandfather? What happened to the wall?”
“Most of it stands today…save now it is guarded from the other direction. It protects the homeland of the Greeks from assault. All at once, the war started. There was no warning, no demands, nothing came from them but that thundering of hooves our people thought they had stopped forever. They started their campaigns for the peninsula of Brighton and when they had taken it, their cavalry rode from their northernmost cities into Coventry and Newcastle. They breached the walls there and then rode on to London itself.”
“Were you there, grandfather? Did you fight in London?”
“No, I was born there, just before it was conquered. My father, like all the men of our clan, was a swordsman, and so he fought and died defending the capital. My mother fled with me to the south. I grew to manhood in Newcastle. The southern province held out the longest under their attacks. The Greeks conquered the Western spur easily enough, but then the Zulu joined the fight against them and slowed their progress for some time. Bit by bit, though, they tore down our empire. I was still very young when I took up my own sword to fight for Nottingham. I had been denied the honor of holding my father’s sword. Some Greek probably took it from his hands as a trophy, but I fought nonetheless.”
“Did you kill many of them?”
“None,” I answered him remorsefully. “They drove us into the ground, spearing us from atop their horses. For that day, that one awful day of battle, I believed all the stories about their evil magic. They were terrible foes, unstoppable. A few survivors withdrew to the bay of Warwick and from there, we sailed here to Dover, safe behind the Zulu lines. When the last of our heartland fell, the Greeks gave us a cease fire and it stood throughout all the days of my life, until now.”
“Why did they attack us now then? Why did they break the cease fire?”
“I don’t think they ever meant to honor it. I spoke with one man who once read the text for himself. He told me, ‘you can tell from the way they worded it, that to them it’s temporary.’ He said, ‘we’ll have peace because we’re beyond their reach…for now.’ That’s the way it is with them, these ‘devils’ you see now in our streets, these ‘Philosopher Kings’ who rule us now. They will take everything they can until they have the world, the whole of the world. Now that their armies have advanced through Zululand to our colony here, they thought nothing other than to take it. To claim it in their dark leader’s name.”
“What will they do now, grandfather?”
“They will spread their dark contagion over us.”
“No!” they shouted.
“Never!” they protested.
“We’ll die good Englishmen!”
“I did not tell you what I saw that day in Nottingham, the day I faced these Philosopher Kings in battle. They rode above the fray on their mighty steeds, all in that same bronze armor. But I chanced to see the face of one of the riders after his helmet was struck free. I saw his fair complexion and his orange hair. I knew him to be the spitting image of the Old Lord Carrington, one of the proudest houses of London. There could be no doubt that the face I saw was an Englishman, one of our own.”
“That’ll never be me!” the boys swore, all but Thomas.
“Good boys, good,” I told them. “Let Dover stay English forever, whoever lords over us.”
Thomas stepped away.
“Thomas, what think you?”
“I do not know, grandfather,” he answered. “I just know, the way that man helped Olde Peter today, getting mud and snow all over his gleaming armor…”
“Yes, Thomas?” I asked, despair in my heart. “And remember boy, before you answer, that these are the fiends who have stolen into your country, killing thousands in battle and taking every piece of our country away from us until even this frozen patch of wasteland we call home today had to be theirs! Think on that before you answer, boy.”
He looked up at me and answered, with something of the steely look I saw on the English soldier in their armor that day four score earlier when I had fought them in Nottingham.
“Only sir,” he replied. “That I did not think him a devil.”

 

[Helmling]

The Zulu Ironsmith
Hlobane, 640 EE






At dawn, I could see the smoke was no longer rising from the city below, nor could I see the enemy army still afield in the outskirts. I sat on my bench, warm gruel cooling in a bowl beside me, and waited for the will to rise. It was over, I knew. Zimbabwe had fallen, why not Hlobane? Still the grief and shock overwhelmed me. Should I work? Should I fire up the forge on this day? Should I weep?
And so I sat and did not eat.
By noon I saw the glint of sun on armor atop horses coming slowly up the winding mountain trail. I could tell from the glint of the metal that it was iron, but that it had been tinted to shine almost green in the light. It was them—the Philosopher Kings were coming to me. I did not move.
There were four of them. The horses slowed just beyond the path that led to my smithy and three of the men dismounted with a startling uniformity of motion. At the head was some officer and the other two flanked him. He removed his helmet and revealed his pale face.
“Greetings,” he said. The accent was thick, but he spoke my tongue. “You are D’Kazi Matoa?”
“I am,” I answered lowly, restraining my hatred.
“I am Pyrrhus, General of the First Army of the Philosopher Kings,” he said.
“Am I to bow to you?” I asked with loathing in my heart.
“I should think not,” he answered. “I am told you are the finest ironsmith in these mountains, in all of Zululand, and so, in all the Southern lands. You should bow to no one.”
“But is that not why you have come, to make us all bow to you, to you Philosopher Kings.”
“That is not why we have come.”
“Isn’t it? Then why did you betray us!”
The two guards stepped forward to flank him more closely, their hands moved swiftly to the hilts of their swords. He shot them an annoyed look and stepped forward.
“We betrayed you?”
“You took our iron in trade, only to forge weapons to use against us.”
“It seemed the most expedient way to conquer this land. Can you really blame me—us? Your leaders attacked us first.”
“That was long ago… you made peace.”
“And your Shakas were foolish enough to give iron to an enemy, such was their folly and greed,” he answered.
“They expected you to honor your agreements.”
“We gave everything we promised…You are bold to speak so freely to me, I respect that, but this is not why I have come.”
“What do you wish of me? You wish me to forge you a sword with which to cut down more of my people?”
“No,” he answered. “I was told—“ He drew out a sword from behind him and extended it, hilt outward, to me. My bones shook as I recognized it. “that this was your mark and that you forged this sword.”
I reached out, trembling, to touch the metal.
“Is this your sword?” he asked me.
“No,” I gasped.
“I mean, did you make this sword?”
“Yes. Why do you ask me this?”
“It was the sword of a great warrior of your people.”
“And how do you come to have it?” I asked, knowing the painful answer that must await me.”
“He was slain in battle. I have come searching for his family, so that I might take them as my own.”
“You killed him?”
“Yes,” he answered, staring into the polished metal of the blade. “He was an admirable opponent and I wish to honor him by protecting his family.”
“You wish to honor him?”
“Yes, as a fallen adversary must be honored.”
“By stealing his wife? Enslaving his children?”
“Our customs are much misunderstood. I wish to provide for them, as he would have had he lived. Do you know where I can find this man’s family?”
I looked again at the sword.
“I am his family. He had no wife or children for you to steal.”
He stared at me, with eyes like a falcon, probing me. “Your son?”
“My son,” I answered.
“He was a great warrior. He fought bravely and fiercely. I offer you his sword as a token of my esteem and respect for his prowess. It was an honor to meet him on the field of battle.”
“Is that why you came here? Is that why you have marched through all our lands? Is that why Zimbabwe burns—“
“Zimbabwe does not burn,” he said softly, like a timid animal, but I continued.
“Is that why you have conquered my city below and killed my son! For your honor!” I shouted. My anguish was driving me beyond all control. I longer to drive my fingers into the man’s eye sockets and rip from him all sight and sense. “Why!” I commanded with all my breath.
There was a long pause, where he stared at me with those blank eyes. “There is nothing I could say to you that would have any meaning when coupled with your grief. It was necessary, but nothing on earth could convince you of that, and so you have my condolences. Allow me to give—“
“Necessary?”
“Yes, it was necessary.”
“The conquest of my country? Or the death of my son?”
“Both.”
“You are sick. You are a diseased people! May the devil take you and your empire into the dust!”
“Sir,” he said forcefully. “Please allow me to give you this sword and I will leave you in peace.”
“If you allow me to take that sword from you I will strike you down with it.”
The two guards stepped forward, but he raised his free hand to hold them back. He looked again to me. “I doubt that very much.”
I lunged for it, snatching it away from him and slashed at him. He clapped his two hands over the blade stopping its stroke in mid air. For less than a second our eyes met, met at the instant of approaching death. His to mine.
Then somehow, he thrust me away, pushing the sword back and throwing me off balance. I could barely discern his movement in the jostling, but he seemed to spin away, turning back toward me with his sword drawn. As he planted his foot and stopped his dervish spin, the blade cut through me, knocking me to the ground.
My son’s sword was out of my hand, but it mattered not. I felt already my blood pouring out of me. I no longer had strength to wield it against him.
“Sir?” one of his guards asked of him.
“Bring me a spade,” he said to them. “I will see to the digging myself.”
I felt the choking sensation of my life ending. He knelt beside me, bringing his white face wretchedly close. “I am sorry,” he said. “You are an honorable man and your son was a great warrior. But my part in our great purpose is not yet complete, so I could not let you kill me today. So I am sorry that you cannot have your revenge.” He picked up my son’s sword and set it in my hands. With effort he managed to wrap my weakened fingers around the stock. “I have seen the death you are about to endure many times,” he said, standing up and raising his sword, point-down toward me. “So there is only one thing left I can do for you.”

 

[Helmling]

The Egyptian Pharaoh
Thebes, 1060 EE

From here I can see all of Thebes, see it spread around me like a glorious monument to our people. In the distance, the sprawling workshops of our engineers—where our best minds toiled to make our military the most sophisticated fighting organization in the world. At the head of the grand avenue of the capital, I see the Great Sixth Chapel, its golden spires rising into the morning. And below me, so close to the palace I can almost smell the fruit and vines are the Hanging Gardens. The City of Wonders, Thebes. Jewel of the World. Heart of Creation. My ancestors, the kings and queens of old, built this city and the empire which surrounds it through genius and magnanimity. For thousands of years, Egypt has stood thanks to their guidance and leadership.
And now, I have failed them.
I will be the last pharaoh. Egypt has fallen.
From this same window, I can see their shapes in the streets below. Few of my soldiers remain to fight them and the lines draw closer, closer to me. Closer to the end.
What was our undoing? Trusting the Philosopher Kings, to be sure. But my predecessors’ greed as well. The mighty kingdom of our own founding was not enough for them. When the Greeks offered a bribe to fight alongside them against the Zulu, King Amenhotep accepted, thinking to add to the bounty in information and technology from the Devils Upon Horses with rich Zulu lands. But he was deceived. Our armies checked the Zulus, keeping them from ever driving against the Philosopher Kings’ conquered English territory, and whenever they advanced, they found that the Greek cavalry had already claimed the ground they had crossed. One colony on the Zulu coast is all we took in that fools' war that fools' war that depleted our strength. One town...Remote, valueless…and the first to fall when the Philosopher Kings had finished with the Zulu and were ready to ride against us.
And now, the Portuguese and the Byzantines come like fools to the Philosopher King call. Do they not know what fate awaits them?
Greed poisons them all and Helmling the Wicked reaps the spoils. Now the northern territory burns as the Portuguese rampage through the jungles, razing our cities as they go.
I would they had reached Thebes first…I would rather see this magnificent city burn than have it serve the Philosopher King’s designs. Can their appetite for land and power ever be slaked?
“My lady, we must flee,” my advisor and vizier had urged me three days ago. “They are coming.
I had not budged from this spot by the window, this place where I still hold vigil, a last remembrance of my city and empire. “And where would you have me run?” I asked in despair.
“To Giza, my lady…”
“Why?”
“To escape the Philosopher Kings, of course!”
“To escape them, for what? So the Byzantines may capture me!”
“You know that the Philosopher Kings plunder women to take as their own, my lady! You cannot let yourself become Helmling’s whore.”
“I will not.”
“But I dare no longer stay! The guards are fleeing!”
“Go,” I told him, and he did. Only a few brave and loyal soldiers remain in the streets below now. The citizens cower in their homes. There is nowhere to flee to. The trek through the jungle to Asyut is too treacherous for them, without water and food. They must hope for the best under their new masters.
But I cannot.
I climb to the edge of the platform off the window…I see clearly that the horsemen have cleared all opposition. My palace stands open to them.
I step toward the edge, breathing in with my eyes all the sights of my glorious city. I speak to my ancestors with my last moments.
“Forgive me. I have failed the dream of Egypt Ascendent…failed the call of our magnificent history. I have let foreign dogs have their way with our city.” One step more. “All I can do now, is end our bloodline with honor.”
Another step…

 

[Helmling]

The Portuguese Soldier
Outside Asyut, 1201 EE



The crackling fire created impossible shapes of phantoms and wild creatures through the twisted mess of the jungle vines and contorted tree trunks. The men were far from it, as it was lit only to dry out their clothes from the drenching rain that had plagued our approach to the city.
“How I long for a roof, instead of this canopy of snakes and rubber leaves!” one cried out.
I walked on, smiling at their jests. It was my night to walk patrol around our camp. There was little use. The jungle was so dense one could see nothing but a few paces ahead, and besides, the Philosopher Kings would not dare attack us. There were too many thousands of us encamped throughout the woods, drawing closer to their captured city of Asyut.



“Who goes there?” another sentry cried out as I walked on.
“One you know,” I answered, recognizing my friend’s voice.
“Ah, Evaristo,” Adalberto chortled at me. “What a god awful night to be stomping around in this horrible mush.”
“Is there a good night for it?”
“Perhaps not, and I must admit there are worse ones. The rains, they’ve left a horrible sore upon my leg. I can barely fit my boot on.” I tried not to look stricken, but in the low light he could not see my face well enough to sense my fear. Many men, I had seen, were robbed from this world by such afflictions. I had seen the rotting flesh overtake the whole leg, until a fire-red sword had to be put to the leg. Even then, most died. At best, they were wasted husks of men sent back with the empty supply carts to beg for food on the streets of Lisbon. My poor friend, he was never bright. If he was to die in such a fashion, at least his mind would not suffer for worry of it.
“I hear the day has almost come to charge the city,” I said.
“I hear the same. Day after day as we wait in this muck.”
“More of our troops have filled the grasslands to the northeast. We have more than enough soldier now to storm the city.”
“Oh, how I long for it. I haven’t known the flesh of a woman in too long! And those Egyptian ladies are so well kept.”
“Perhaps those damned Greeks have already helped themselves to the women, my friend.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard, they don’t rape the women, they offer to feed them,” he said, laughing uproariously.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, who knows what these fools think. To think such a poor excuse for an army conquered Southern Egypt.”
“And Zululand,” I added.
“Well—“
“And England.”
“What’re you, a believer!”
“Believer in what?”
“Oh, the fairy tales the Egyptians spin about them. ‘The Philosopher Kings will finish you…the Philosopher Kings can’t be killed. Rue the day you crossed the Philosopher Kings!”
“Egyptians said that?”
“To be sure, workers we captured in on the southern roads. They’d already been put to work by the Greeks before the war started.”
“’Rue the day,’ huh?”
“They’ll see…Egypt will belong to us. These Philosopher Kings have stretched themselves too thin. Trying to hold on to so much territory. They’ll never survive against us. England and Zululand, huh, as if those are foes worth mentioning. Egypt only fell because we crushed their will by invading the north. These Greeks had nothing to do with it.”
“So you think Asyut will fall easily, then?”
“Oh yes, by week’s end we’ll be enjoying the fine palaces of the Egyptian lord of the city and hopefully a few of his ripest daughters.”
“I should be glad to escape this jungle. Sometimes during this slog I’ve wished the Prince didn’t start the war. I mean, I’m sure we’ll have great glory and plunder in the south as we have in the north, but it’s been a miserable passage,” I said as I kicked a stone out of some caked mud at the base of a tree.
“Attack,” a cry came faintly from the left.
“What’s that?”
“An alarm?”
“Attack, attack!” the voices drew closer.
“Surely they are joking us. It cannot be?”
“Pitch dark, in the jungle? The Philosopher Kings would be mad!”
“Aren’t they, though?” he said.
Behind us the men by the fire were arming, but slowly and with puzzled looks upon their faces.
All at once, the battle was upon us. Crazed Philosopher King soldiers were upon us. I had never seen or heard of their like. Each carried a tall shield, emblazoned with something I took to be a sign to their gods—a strange, empty sphere. The other men were with me as three or four of the attackers sunk into our midst. We had them outnumbered two to one, but they fought like animals. I saw one smash Evaristo’s face with the shield as he cut at another man, who had slipped into his leather armor in vain. Both fell bloody beside the maniac. I raised my sword as one came upon me. His strokes were so powerful I felt my grip upon my sword slipping with each blow. Try as I might I could not regain position to return the thrusts. I felt like a child being scolded in training. Finally, the force of his blows shattered my sword.
I stumbled backward, my own sword point had been thrown into my hip and was drawing a thick issue. Others from my camp had pushed the raving Philosopher King soldier back, and I was left bloodied and exhausted in the muck.
I tried to rise as I heard the sounds of battle drifting farther and farther away into the night. I realized too late that it was that the fighting was moving away from me, but that I was moving away from it…into deep and unforgiving unconsciousness.
I woke, still slick with my own blood, to the piercing light of a bright overhead sun. I tried to stand, but could not. Insects were feasting on my skin and I was so weak I could not even manage to scrape them away.
I told myself I must move. I started to drag myself away, but the pain in my side was unbearable. I tried to lift my head to examine myself. The tip of my sword was still in my flesh, now stuck there with a mass of black blood and grime.
“Help,” I cried out. “Brothers, I am here!”
No answer came. Against the awful pain, I dragged myself toward where I knew the camp would be.
“If you want to live, you’ll try the other direction,” someone said in broken Portuguese.
I twisted my head and saw one of the madmen from the night before lying against a tree a few paces off. My first thought was to arm myself, but I realized it was ridiculous at once and almost laughed at myself.
He was apparently injured too. Long rivers of blood dripped down his throat, and his hand was clutching some wound.
“What are you?” I asked him with difficulty.
“A Crusader for the cause. Knight of the order Templar.”
“What does that mean?”
“We have been sent to end your offensive.”
“It seems you have failed.”
“Do you think so? Look about you, my friend. How many of your men do you see and how many like me have fallen tonight.”
It was true. Everywhere were the bodies of my comrades—even Evaristo’s body! And beside this one, I saw only one other Philosopher King soldier slain.
“This is hardly our whole army, fool,” I told him. “You have no idea what you are up against.”
“Who was surprised last night?” he asked.
“It’s no matter. My men will find me—“
“Your men are gone. Besides, your surgeons are too primitive to save you from that wound. You will need our medicine if you wish to live.”
“It seems not to do you much good!”
He laughed, coughing up blood as he did. “Nothing can save me. That is why I urged my men forward and told them to come back for my body when they had driven your troops out of the woods.”
“You are a commander?”
“Yes, I was the Crusader commander, under Odysseus himself, the new governor of the province of Egypt, ruling from the city of Elijah Carina, formerly Thebes.”
“Odysseus?”
“You do not know his name? He is the general who thwarted your attack on Memphis.”
“A diversion! You think that matters, compared to what we have brought to bear here!” I shouted. Every word pained me, brining terrible agony from my wounds, but I could not harm him any other way but by promising that his effort had been for naught. “We will crush Asyut and take from you everything you have claimed in Egypt!”
“I think not. I think you will find attacking us was the most foolish thing your nation ever did.”
“Enough of this,” I barked. “Die here, I go to find my men!”
“Your only chance is to surrender.”
“and what, live as your prisoner? I think not. I think I will see my homeland again.”
“You may in time. Soon we will conquer Portugal—“
“Ha,” I quipped. “You people have delusions of grandeur. Our homeland is impossibly distant.”
“Byzantium will grant us passage. It has all been arranged.”
“Nonsense. Why would you tell me this if it were true!”
“Because as I said, the only way you’ll live to see Portugal is if you surrender.”
“Fool! Madman!”
“Come now, my friend,” he said before erupting into a violent fit of coughing that seemed to drain all color from him. “You must know enough to know how badly you are hurt. If you are a soldier who has seen the previous campaigns of your nation in Egypt, you must know enough to see the truth. This was your camp and yet your people are here no longer. Obviously they have been driven back. And if they have been—“ He collapsed again, blood spewing with each cough. “And if they have been driven back, then my troops stand between you and them. What’s more, listen. The jungle is quiet, quiet with the dead alone. The fight is far from here by now. Your only hope is to shout for help, and for my people to come.”
“Never! I’d sooner die!”
“Nothing to live for? It is your choice. If it were me. I would live.”
“Would you disgrace your army and nation?”
“If mine meant as little as yours, yes.”
“And yours means more?”
“There is only one way for you to understand the answer to that…join us…” His face trembled with pain. “No Philosopher King soldier would slay an unarmed man. You will be helped. And soon, you can return to your homeland.”
“I will watch you die and then I will rejoin my men,” I told him. But he was already died. He had passed his last energy and breath speaking. I wished I could cross the distance to him, to wipe the smile from his face.
The terror was setting in on me. Soon I would lose all color as he did and slip away into death. I had been like Evaristo, denying to myself the dire state of my own body.
Then like a flash, I wondered if the dead Philosopher King were right and if Portugal was doing the same—denying its own doom? These fiends had fought with an intensity I could have never imagined. How many more like these stood ready to fight us? Zululand, England, Egypt…were we next? Would the Byzantines allow it? Would they turn on us? Why wouldn’t they…for more of the bribes the Philosopher Kings offered to allies, they would surely turn against us, perhaps the Persians too.
Suddenly I saw the future like a flash from the sun above. It broke through the treetops like a meteor from heaven into my mind’s eye. They were already masters of the whole of the Southern lands. They meant to take the North as well. The Philosopher Kings would rule from icy sea to icy sea.
All our vast armies…all these swordsmen and spearmen arrayed against Asyut in this miserable jungle…all would die.
Before one Philosopher King boot had touched our soil, I knew the horrible truth.
Portugal was finished.
There were voices. They were drawing nearer. I could tell from the cadences of the words that it was not Portuguese being spoken.
They were there. My hand fumbled for a weapon.
And then…the terror was there…I would die…unless…unless he was right…
Hoarsely at first, and then with all the will to survive left in me, I cried out.
“Help me…help me!”

 

[Helmling]

The Persian Partisan
Sidon, 1419 EE



We lined them up, the six of them. They stood like statues, staring forward always. Some of the people taunted them relentlessly. They seemed indifferent, even to their imminent deaths.
“Won’t you beg for you lives?” I asked at last.
The highest ranked among them turned to face me. “Would you listen?”
“No,” those around me sneered.
He did not look at them. “I will ask you to spare the lives of these men. If you want me to beg you, I will.”
“These people want your blood, Philosopher King,” I told him. “Why should I deny them the pleasure…why should I deny myself the pleasure?”
“Because it will do no good and then you will all be murderers.”
“You’re the murderers. You came here and murdered our people and—“
“Lies!” he shouted, with a thunderous voice that startled everyone. “Let one man come forward who saw a Philosopher King soldier strike at an unarmed opponent!” he continued. “If any man in our army committed such a crime during this occupation then I will gladly answer for it with my life! Let one come forward with that charge! But there is none, we would never kill except in combat!”
“It does not matter,” I told him quickly. “You have invaded our homeland without cause. You will all die here.”
“So be it,” he answered.
“We came here prepared to make that sacrifice,” the man next to him said.
“Let them go,” the leader said. “Nothing is to be gained by killing these men.”
“And what was to be gained by your invading us?”
“That is self-evident,” he answered.
“Enough! Kill them!” the crowd chanted around me.
“Maybe you should listen to him,” Adhar counseled from beside me. I turned to the grizzled soldier, who had joined us in the midst of the revolt and led a charge against the last position of the invaders within our city. I was surprised he would speak such; could such a hardened soldier be swayed by their words, be meek before death?
“Kill them!” the crowd cried on.
“Yes,” I answered them, still watching Adhar carefully. “Ready!”
The crowd pulled back away from where the invaders were lined against the wall.
“Aim!”
Ten men raised muskets and bore them in on the Philosopher Kings.
I saw Adhar look away, as if in disgust.
“Fire!”
The air filled with black smoke. No screams came from our fallen enemies, even when it became clear that the shots had not killed all of them. Soon the crowd swooped in on the men and began to tear at them.
Should I not have grinned? The site, though barbarous, was sweet to my eyes.
“Persia!” I yelled into the air.
“Persia!” the crowd cheered back. It continued as they lifted the tattered bodies above them in a bloody frenzy.
In the throws of that revelry, Adhar grabbed me by the shoulder. “We must talk,” he said.
We retired to a tavern that had cleared for the celebration of our victory over the invaders. He sat slowly, as if greatly fatigued by the day’s last fighting, but I guessed from what I had seen moments before that it was something to do with the execution.
“What is troubling you, old man?” I asked. “Did I do wrong giving those men to the crowd?”
He did not answer, but merely looked glumly at the floor.
“They are the ones who invaded us. It is there fault—“
“I only thought,” he interrupted. “that they might be more useful as hostages when the Philosopher Kings return.”
“Return?”
“Yes,” he said, looking up into my eyes suddenly. “You do know they will return?”
“We have beaten them back!”
“You have surprised and overpowered the garrison they left here. Do you really believe that they will simply grant you your independence.”
“What do you mean ‘your?’ This is your victory too. You helped us secure this. This revolt might have failed without you.”
“The revolt,” he said quietly. “was a fool’s errand.”
“Then why did you join it!” I exclaimed in shock.
“My people were fighting in the streets. What was I to do? Watch from my window?” he replied angrily. “Of course, my heart is with Persia, but my mind sees plainly what comes next.”
“And what is that?”
“They will return.”
“No, the revolution will spread to Persepolis and the capital will once more be free of invaders!”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It is the heart of our empire. Once they know we have won our freedom, they will rise up and retake theirs.”
“And then what?” he balked.
I was taken aback by his lack of faith. “What do you mean and then what?”
“You are a young man, but honestly, think this through. Even if revolts liberated every city from them, what do you think would happen? The Philosopher Kings have conquered the English, the Zulu, the Egyptian, the Portuguese…now they have almost finished their conquest of us. From sea to sea, from pole to pole. Their empire knows no boundaries. The East is nearly theirs, outright. They swept through our armies easily enough, even if you do arm this peasant rabble against them, how will they stand up to a full charge from their cavalry? Their rifles fire faster than the best in our army’s stores when the war began. All your revolutionaries have are muskets now. There can be no lasting victory against such a foe.”
“You have so little faith, brother.”
“I fought this war, and I lost it. Now, you have led these people in this uprising and now I have to lose it all over again.”
I stood to leave him but heaped down my scorn upon him first, “Go back to your house then. You coward!”
“I fought more than you, boy. I saw you, always in the margins, shouting orders. Don’t you realize what you’ve led these people to?”
“Freedom!”
“For how long? How long until they come?”
“Let them come. We will be ready!”
“Let’s see. Let’s see, if they didn’t send word before you managed to overwhelm their barracks, then it will be perhaps two days until their forces in Persepolis grow impatient for news and send a messenger. If you manage to intercept and kill that messenger, then a scouting party will be sent a day after that. I know them, these Philosopher Kings. They will take no chances. They are sure to send a sizable force to subdue the city. Give them two weeks to gather it. If you are very lucky, you have bought them perhaps a month of freedom. One month.”
“We shall see,” I told him. “Good day, sir.”
I stepped out back into the smoky air. The crowd was still celebrating, but now I had become morose because of the old soldier’s incriminations.
“Barsoum,” I called to one of the young men who had first followed me in the revolt.
“Yes?”
“Barsoum, tell me, during the fighting…did you see any of the enemy flee?”
“Run away? No, they all stood and fought.”
“But before the fighting started…did you see any ride away.”
“Ah,” he said and looked off, trying to remember. “Yes, I suppose one. Yes, one did ride off to the south rode…very fast.”
“South…”
“Yes, south.”
“South…to Persepolis...where their forces are,” I gasped to myself; the sun was low in the winter sky as I looked out toward the road South.

 

[Helmling]

The Byzantine Queen
Constantinople, 1449 EE

The gilded doors swung open and the guards escorted the ambassador forward. I rose from my throne to greet him.
“Your highness,” he said with a bow.
“Ambassador, welcome.”
“Ambassador,” my advisor Phokas murmured from beside me.
The doors shut and I settled into my seat again. I turned to him with a smile but was suddenly disarmed by the demeanor that awaited me. Though all our contacts with the Philosopher Kings seemed to demonstrate their restrained natures, I thought now that his face seemed wholly different—as if all humanity had been bled out from his features. He seemed to wear a terrible mask of dispassion.
“Ambassador, does Lord Helmling send you with business for my court?”
“He does, my lady.”
I studied him as he stood like an idol before us.
“And what is that business?” Phokas prodded.
“Persia is secure, my lady. All traces of resistance have been pacified.”
“This pleases us, Ambassador. You have already conveyed my congratulations on Lord Helmling’s victory over the Persians. Though you did not call upon us as allies in this last war, you know that our hearts remained with your cause and that we stood ready to assist you, as we have so often in the past.”
“Indeed, my lady,” he continued, stepping forward. “The Philosopher Kings have not forgotten the aid you have given in the past. That is why I have come.”
“But there are no alliances left to be made,” Phokas protested. “You cannot come to negotiate another alliance.”
“No, that is not my business,” he replied. “As I said, Persia is secured. The time has come for the continent to be united.”
“United how?” I asked nervously.
“There can be only one path to unity, my lady.”
“You cannot mean—“
“Lord Helmling prays he will not have to order our soldiers into battle against the Byzantines who fought alongside us in the Egyptian and Portuguese campaigns. We respect and admire your people and wish the transition to be as painless as possible.”
“Transition!” Phokas gasped.
“That is why it is our hope that you will see reason and surrender peacefully.”
“Surrender!” Phokas shrieked.
“Surely this is a cruel joke, Ambassador.”
“We make this entreaty in all seriousness, my lady. Lord Helmling urges you to allow for the unification of this continent to be completed without bloodshed.”
“Is he serious?” Phokas whined.
I rose and paced toward the palace windows that looked out onto the great Pyramids. “Why?” I asked earnestly as I shot back around.
“The Nation—“
“Why would you betray us like this!” I demanded.
“We mean no betrayal, my lady. It is the way things must be. There can be only one nation. Byzantium must become part of the Nation of the Philosopher Kings.”
“We have done nothing to you!”
“Which is why I stand pleading for your soldiers’ lives. Surrender now and spare all of us the bloodshed of another war.”
“Must you have the whole continent! We are no threat to you, surely Helmling sees that!” I pleaded.
“My lady, it is not about our safety. We could have made ourselves safe forever behind the walls in Greece. This is far larger than the safety of one people.”
“Then why!”
“For all peoples, my lady. It is the only way. Please, do not resist it. Order your troops to stand down, lest they will all perish.”
I turned again to the Pyramids, gleaning in the sun’s late autumn rays. I saw my nation’s fate—the same as the other countries of the East. All had perished. Only we and the Philosopher Kings remained.
“Can we not coexist?” I asked without looking at him.
“We could coexist, but that is not enough.”
“Must you have the whole continent? Why?”
“There can be only one nation, my lady. All the family of man must stand together. They will do that through us. It is the only way.”
“All the family? But what of the New World? What of the West? Surely this dream of yours is a hopeless one! Conquer us and there will still be the Western world. America, the Netherlands, Sumeria! You cannot—“
He drew very close. The guards stepped up as well, ready to strike at him if he should touch me. “All in due time, my lady. For now the question lies before you. Stand with us now of your own choice, or face conquest. There is only one reasonable choice.”
I turned again to face him.
“Send word to him. Tell him not to do this. Tell him that we mean your Nation no ill will.”
“My lady, he knows these things. It cannot change the course that must be followed. That course was set before either you or I was born. Generation after generation has toiled, fought and died for it. It cannot be altered. This generation will see the Eastern continent united. It will come to be.”
“Is there nothing you can do? Is there nothing you can say to him? No message you could send him that would prevent this war? Is there nothing that can be done!”
He now hovered over me. The guards rushed to my side. As they lay their hands on him, he answered, “Nothing can stop it now.”
“Take him away,” I ordered with the strained voice of a ghost.

 

[Helmling]

The Carthaginian Fisherman
Carthago Novo, 1136 EE

I was untangling my nets on a warm spring day when I first saw the ships. The masts were tall, at least as tall as any ship I had seen upon the waves. The five large caravels came under a light wind closer and closer as the afternoon stretched on until finally I could see that they had made anchor and that a smaller boat was coming ashore. I wondered why there were so many and why they had not gone on to the port, but I never thought that they were not from Carthage. Such mighty sails, and why else would a ship be here?
As they drew closer, I could see their helmets glistening in the sun. They looked like the Numidians who guard the city, but I could not imagine why they would have been put to sea. It was only when they pulled ashore and stepped out of the boat that I saw their armor was different, with a strange green tone to it, and that the rest of their dress and weapons were not of our country.
I became afraid, but too late to do anything but quake in fright. They were not Americans or Vikings or Dutchmen. Who might they be?
“Hello,” the leader called out.
“Hello,” I answered. “Who are you?”
“East,” he answered.
“I do not understand you. Who are you and what do you want here?” I asked nervously.
He shook his head, but smiled. “Few words,” he said, pointing to himself. “We come far.”
“You come far?”
“Yes. Words, yours, few.”
“I do not understand you. Where are you from?”
He smiled on, and knelt in the sand beside me, pointing to the ground. He began to sketch something in the soft, wet sand of the beach. He drew a shape, and placed his finger in it to make a hole. “Cirta,” he said, pointing to it.
“You are not from Cirta.”
He pointed again and drew another shape, this one left open. He marked another hole and looked up, saying, “you.”
“Me?”
“Cirta, here. You, here,” he said. I understood at last he was drawing a map. They must have passed by Cirta already, and perhaps these few words were all they took away from there.
“Ah,” I answered. “Carthago Novo,” I said, pointing to the new dot.
“Carthago Novo,” he repeated with a nod. He was obviously pleased and turned to his companions who also smiled.
“and you?” I said, pointing to him.
He stood up. “East,” he said again extending his arm outward toward the great, dark ocean. I looked out, past his ships in disbelief. Could they really be aliens from a land beyond the sea? What did their arrival signify?

 

[Helmling]

The Aztec Scholar
The city of Claudia, 1443 EE

I opened the envelope waiting for me on my desk.
“Is this a joke?” I asked Professor Polyklates.
“What is it?” I showed it to him. His eyes widened as he studied it.
“I suppose not.”
“But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would I be sent this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s curious about your research.”
“My research?”
“Yes, why not?” he suggested.
I looked down at the letter again and read it one more time. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well,” Dr. Polyklates said. “there’s only one way to find out.”
“What’s that?”
“Accept the invitation.”
I did not sleep for two nights after that. I could not understand why I would have been sent the letter, and at last, I gave in to my curiosity and journeyed past the university plaza, into the grand avenue that led beyond the Great Library to the capital building, and there, with my letter in hand, I was admitted up the winding stairs toward the Golden Dome. At the last door, the guard—in full hoplite uniform—examined the letter carefully and then stepped aside, opening the door for me.



I stepped cautiously inside. I was at the base of another set of stairs, yet I could see that above, these stairs opened directly into a large chamber, filled with natural light. I climbed up and found myself surrounded by a colonnade that opened out onto the city. Looking out quickly, I could see the shapes of the War College and the Ivory Temple behind the capital building. Turning, the Library loomed just below my gaze and beyond it to the West, the roof of the Globe Theater rose above the surrounding structures. The whole of the city of Claudia spread out around this room which was sparsely furnished with couches and a large desk near the center of the room. From behind a curtained area on the other side, a figure emerged.
“Dr. D’wina Cuaula, I presume,” he said.
“Lord Helmling?”
“Is it too much,” he asked with a smirk. He was dressed in casual dress, a very Greek tunic and modern trousers. “The title? I’ve always felt a bit presumptuous with the ‘Lord,’ but it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Excuse me?” He walked over to a circle of couches.
“Please, be seated,” he said, gesturing to one of the sofas.
“This is not what I expected,” I let slip my confusion.
“What? You thought I’d be taller?”
“I meant that this is not what I expected to find under the Golden Dome of the capital.”
“What did you expect?” he asked me.
I looked around the wide, circular chamber at the various accouterments—low book cases, the long table, the office desk. “I expected a throne room,” I admitted.
He laughed. “Please, have a seat,” he repeated.
Cautiously, I sat at the edge of a sofa across from him. “Did you want something to drink? I have some American wine, though I never touch the stuff myself.”
“No, thank you,” I answered. He sat.
“A throne room, eh? No, not for me.”
“Strange,” I said. “I would have expected the conqueror of half the world to have a throne,” as I spoke, my cheeks turned warm as I felt my face redden. Somehow he had disarmed me and I had spoken freely as I would to friends at home. To my surprise, I saw no anger in his eyes. He looked away and nodded slowly, as if to himself. If anything, it was shame I saw on his face. “How’s work, doctor?” he asked after a pause.
“Is that why I’ve been summoned here, because of my work?”
“Yes,” he answered. His tone seemed serious and he set me ill at ease. I had offended him. The thought terrified me. Then I realized I was alone with him. There were no guards, no officials, no one to protect either of us. It made me all the more uncomfortable.
“What about my work could interest the leader of the Philosopher Kings?”
“Oh, a great deal interests me. Tell me about your work, doctor.”
“It’s just some rather obscure taxonomical research, I don’t see—“
“Now, now,” he said. He wry smile returned. “Let’s not be modest here, doctor.”
“What do you already know?”
“Enough.”
“And what do you want to know from me?” I asked uncertainly. I knew my work would contradict many dogmas and doctrines. Did he know it?
“What do you think is the reason for the divergent cellular morphologies?”
My eyes widened in surprise and I jumped a bit. “You mean—“
“How do you intend to account for the two structures?”
“My work is far from complete…I don’t yet have…”
“I know you must already know what hypothesis you are working towards doctor. You’ve known for years. You knew even before you traveled to this continent. Tell me, please.”
Nervously, I answered, “Fundamentally different biochemistry.”
He nodded quietly. “And this suggests what to you?”
“Lord Helmling, I—“
“Please, Doctor, what does the fundamentally different biochemistry and the wholly disparate cellular morphology you’ve documented in your samples indicate to you?”
“Two distinct instances of biogenesis,” I said slowly.
“You know, of course, that a lot of people will take issue with your conclusions.”
“My conclusions are not—“
“Relax, Doctor. I didn’t say that I was one of them.”
“Then why am I here?”
“I understand that you’ve been offered an appointment at Newton’s University back in America.”
“You know that?”
“Yes.”
“Should I bother to ask how?” I asked.
“Let’s just say that we have been aware of your work and its importance for some time,” he answered.
“You have?”
“Yes, Doctor. I wonder, do you think the people of America will be as interested in your findings?”
“I don’t know.”
“You will be one of few Aztecs ever granted a post at Newton’s.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“What do you think will happen to your career when you publish these results?”
“I’m not ready to publish yet,” I replied.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
“Come now, Doctor. You’ll be publishing results that show that there are two distinct families of living things on this planet and that they originated from two distinct origins and have evolved through a process of natural selection. You will offend the religious sensibilities of much of the world.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the paleontological evidence?”
“What?”
“The fossils, what do they suggest?”
“That’s even more speculative, I would not be comfortable—“
“Let me guess. The investigation of the fossil record you have made indicates, though the technology to prove this remains unavailable, that one of these two strains of life had only arrived in the recent geological past, within the last 5,000 years.”
“Yes,” I answered softly, leaning forward towards him. He was reclined and comfortable across from me and somehow I saw the truth in a flash. “None of this is a surprise to you, is it?”
“No.”
“You knew it all?”
“Yes.”
“The two origins?”
“Yes.”
“Natural Selection?”
“Yes.”
“Of course,” I gasped. “The stories are true then, aren’t they? You’re ancient. You’ve lived for centuries?”
“Millenia, from your point of view.”
“My point of view?”
“It’s unspeakably complicated, but—“
“How many of the innovations and discoveries of the past three thousand years have you understood all along?”
“I’ve known many of the principles, but that’s a far cry from doing the hard leg work of discovery and invention. Take your work for example. Yes, I’ve always known how evolution works, and I’ve known that some species—our own, cows, horses, elephants and many, many others, were only introduced to this world a few thousand years ago. But it took someone with your genius to come along and do the fieldwork to prove those connections.”
“But you could have just—“ I began.
“Most things in life are of no value unless earned through labor and sacrifice,” he interrupted.
“I can’t believe it,” I said shaking my head.
“Doctor,” he said earnestly. “Don’t go back to America. You owe them nothing. Their nation conquered your people and in the times since they have left your nation a cultural wasteland. They have neglected your territory and oppressed your people. They have nothing to offer you.”
“Are you offering me something?”
“You know what we offer. You have lived and worked here for three years, and don’t pretend you came here just to gather samples from the flora and fauna of this continent. You came here because the Philosopher Kings are the most advanced nation on earth and because Claudia is the center of learning in the Nation. Even Newton’s University has nothing to compete with it. It’s a fine school, to be sure, but they’re only playing catch up to us…and they’re not going to catch up.”
“Maybe you underestimate them.”
“No, America’s fate is known to us.”
“What does that mean?” I shrieked in alarm.
“Their destiny has been decided.”
I looked at him. His eyes were steely grey with determination. I could not help but shudder.
“I don’t understand.”
“America’s posturing against us is going to very soon lead them into a war, a war that they cannot win.”
“You think you can cross the ocean to conquer them as well? You must—“
“The time is not yet right for that, no. But they will challenge us and when they do, we will make sure they are isolated. Their progress will come to a screeching halt, I assure you.”
“What do you mean? What will you do to them?”
“As you say, we cannot cross an ocean to conquer them, not yet. But when they make their move, we will make sure that they are suitably engaged in other conflicts until the time is right.”
“Suitably engaged?”
“America will find itself with many enemies.”
“You’ll turn Sumeria and the Iroquois against them, won’t you? Just as you turned Portugal, Byzantium and Persia against Egypt centuries ago?
“We will turn everyone against them.”
“Don’t you have any idea the cost in human life!” I shouted, loosing all restraint.
“Sadly, I do.”
“It’s true,” I gasped. “It’s all true. You mean to conquer the whole world!”
“I know from reading about you that you are a pacifist. I admire that. In another life, I was like you.”
“I find that impossible to believe,” I hissed at him. “You and I cannot have anything in common.” I stood, uncertain of what I intended to do. I still did not have the courage to turn my back on the ruler of half the world.
“Believe it,” he said, rising to face me. “I respect your beliefs, but I cannot abide them. Our purpose is too great. You say ‘conquer,’ we Philosopher Kings say ‘unite.’”
“But—“
“Tell me the truth, what did you expect of our people when you came here?”
“What do you mean—“
“What did you expect us to be like? Honestly?”
I could not answer at first but he remained staring at me intently. “Savages. I expected ruthless barbarians. Mindless killers.”
“And is that what you’ve found?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Describe the character of the Philosopher King people as you have come to know them.”
“Decent, unbending…moral and honest. I was surprised by your people’s integrity.”
He nodded.
I turned away, shocked and confused. “Why are you telling me this? Why? Do you mean to execute me? I don’t understand.”
“Why would I even think of such a thing?”
“You cannot let me go back to America, after you’ve told me what you intend to do to them?”
“It is no secret, Doctor. Ask anyone on the street below. Pull any Philosopher King citizen off the street from here to Sidon and ask them what must become of America. They will all answer the same thing.”
“They all know?”
“They will all tell you that eventually, America must fall. They all must. There can be only one Nation.”
“The family of man must stand together,” I said, repeating something I had heard often in the city of Claudia. “Why?” The intensity of the confrontation was bringing tears to my eyes. I felt my limbs trembling beneath me.
“It is the only way,” he said.
I sat back down.
“But you’ve modernized. You—“
“Now that the East is almost completely ours, we will go through a long period of building. We will improve our infrastructure, build an industrial base sufficient to complete our purpose, we will harness new technologies and expand our knowledge.”
“And then?”
“And yes, when the time is right. We will end all wars, all nationalistic divisions, all petty conflicts. We will unite the world.”
“You cannot conquer them…they’re too strong and too far,” I said sincerely.
“You cannot imagine what will be possible,” he told me. “Wondrous things. You can help us.”
“I don’t want to help you,” I said, but somehow, the words seemed weak. I collapsed onto the couch.
“Not fight, not make war. But you can help us step into a new era. The work you’re doing, it can inspire a thousand others. You can help us usher in a new era of technology. Imagine being able to look at the very atoms that make up the cells you’ve been studying? That technology is just on the horizon. We will develop it. Here. Not America. Not Newton’s. Here, first.”
“Are you telling me that the atomic theory is correct?” I asked in awe.
“It’s only the beginning,” he told me. “There are such fantastic forces at work in nature that you can scarcely imagine. Terrible powers that must not be let loose before humankind stands united. Join us and you can bring that day closer. A full staff, full tenure and all the resources you need to bring your work to its conclusion, and beyond. Stay with us and together we can advance science by leaps and bounds.”
“But all so you can conquer more lands?”
“No, no…that’s not why.”
“Why then?”
“For the same reasons you have always wondered, always investigated, always scrutinized the world around you. You represent the best of the human spirit, Doctor. To explore, to seek to know. You will never find a better embodiment of that than this place, this city. America has nothing for you…stay with us and you can change the world.”
He reached his hand down to me. Tremulously, tentatively, I lifted my fingers and placed my hand in his.

 

[The Omega]

....This is the best story I've ever read in the stories and tales froum. It's better than Out of The Rubble and Daftpanzer's "The Celtic Peacekeepers" (Which is supposedly supposed to be the greatest story ever written here). This story is truly great. It's inspired me to read you're other Philosopher Kings stories, which I also find excellent. You are truly a master writer.

 

[Helmling]

Wow...thank you. That's very flattering. Of course, now I feel pressure to live up to such high praise. (gulp)

Thank you very much...more to come tonight once the wife and kids have gone to bed.

 

[The Omega]

Wow...thank you. That's very flattering. Of course, now I feel pressure to live up to such high praise. (gulp)

Sorry bout that. But this really is very good. If it weren't for the fact that it was on a computer, this could be mistaken for an actual book.

 

[Helmling]

The American General
Part I
Washington, December 1792 EE


The tone of the war-room was becoming more and more confused with each new panicked voice that joined in the cacophony. I had arrived late and so stood to the side, listening to what little discernible information was being disseminated.
“They definitely control the Lewis Trail and Clark’s Path…”
“Apparently they control all the southeast of Boston…”
“We now believe they used this sheltered cove as a landing point,” a colonel said while pointing with a long prod at the wall map of the Boston area that had been tacked up hastily over maps of the Sumerian front. “And from there they have moved immediately to secure the mountain passes that would have provided any opportunity to assault the beach and drive back their landings. These tanks of theirs are apparently rolling right up into the mountains with incredible speed.”
“I refuse to believe that they could have accomplished so much in one night under cover of darkness!” the President for Life exhorted angrily.
“Without so much as a full moon,” added one of his flunkies, an admiral who had long since become too fat to put to sea with the fleet.
“We believe their flying machines may have been involved in the initial stages of their landing, but those are only circumstantial reports…nothing solid.”
I stepped forward. “Their technology is considerably advanced,” I suggested tentatively. “Perhaps they have optics that allow them to see at night.”
“Is that even physically possible?” the admiral balked, examining me with something like revulsion.
“Perhaps,” a major from the Weapons Research division offered. “According to theories in their literature, there is radiation given off by hot objects which is not visible to the naked eye. If they—“
“I don’t want this speculation,” the President barked. “I want facts and I want action.”
“Very well, sir,” I said, asserting myself at last. “Here are the facts. The Philosopher Kings have launched an invasion. They have managed a massive coup de grace by coming ashore quickly and without opposition. They have secured highlands which gives them a highly defensible staging area. What’s worse, their fleet has established massive superiority in the Bay of Boston. They are now unassailable.”
“You make the situation sound so grim! They have dared to challenge us on our own territory and in the heart of our nation!”
“What are their numbers?” I barked to an intelligence officer.
“Our projections are uncertain. Perhaps more than ten thousand infantry supporting an unknown number of their mobile war machines.”
“A paltry force,” the admiral snapped.
“Admiral, if you had to go nose to nose with their fleet, how many of our frigates would you think necessary to match one of their battleships?”
“What?”
“I believe that their standard battleship class is four times the length of one of our frigates and of course, is entirely steel. Its armaments are vastly superior in range, explosive power and accuracy. So how many frigates would be required to match a single Philosopher King battleship?” I asked.
“I couldn’t say.”
“Intelligence indicates something on the order of nine flotillas of Frigates would be required to match the offensive potential of one battleship,” the major from weapons research offered.
“How many of those vessels are off our coast now?”
“There are at least three battlegroups around Boston. Reports of smaller destroyer class vessels and more battleships are coming in from up and down the coast.”
“What exactly is your point, general?” the President asked.
“Just this, sir,” I began, but turned again to the most knowledgeable of the information officers. “How many of those tanks of theirs have they put ashore already?”
“We don’t know; they are still unloading,” he said. “but thousands. I’d guess at least 5,000.”
“Listen here, General,” the President interjected. “Just what are you getting at here?”
“The Philosopher Kings have a massive advantage—“
“They’re on our territory!” the admiral objected.
I ignored the fool and continued, “we should marshal all our forces to meet them in Boston. Pull all our infantry from the northern front immediately and maybe, just maybe, we can contain this invasion force.”
“Are you mad? The Sumerians would snatch back everything that we have fought to gain for three generations!”
“Better we lose our Scandinavian holdings than we lose the heartland, sir!”
“Shell them!” he commanded.
“Mr. President, that is why they have gone to such great lengths to capture the mountains for their staging area. Our artillery will be ineffective at those altitudes.”
“I said shell them!” he ordered. “And prepare the infantry divisions in Boston to meet their assault. We will show these Philosopher Kings that no amount of technology can compete with the American fighting spirit.”
“Sir,” I pleaded. “will you not realign our forces to meet them? There are not enough defenders in Boston.”
“Mr. President, these tanks are only a few hundred miles south of here!”
“That’s enough, General,” he ordered. I swallowed my tongue and paced away from the map, shaking my head at the folly of it all. “Hasn’t anyone brought me that Philosopher King ambassador yet?”
“Mr. President!” a young lieutenant shouted as he dashed into the bunker. “I’ve just returned from there, from the Philosopher King embassy.”
“And?”
“It’s empty sir, completely empty.”
“What?”
The room went hush. I sat down against the far wall.
“There’s nothing there, sir. No one remains.”
“When did they evacuate?”
“Well, sir,” the intelligence chief began. “They have been reducing their staff for some time. Ever since our war with them was resolved, they’ve been drawing inward. They’ve taken almost no interest in the affairs of the Western Continent in decades. They’ve let almost all their trade pacts lapse. This is a sudden reversal of their recent policies of isolationism. It makes no sense.”
“But how could they leave without us being aware? Where were you spies?”
“I can’t say, sir, I can’t say…”
I only half heard him as he spoke. Instead my mind wandered to a day when I was only a young captain, taking command of my first cavalry post. We were on training maneuvers in Azteca. I was with my old commander, Colonel Jackson. We were riding together on a clear day and came to the crest of a hill from which we could see the great ocean spreading out eastward before us. I commented on the marvel of the view, but he became sullen. He spoke about the Philosopher Kings, about how they have shored up control of the entire Eastern continent except for one Iroquois colony conquered from Carthage. He spoke of how they now built and grew, beyond anything the West could imagine. “I look across the ocean and I see the winding of a great spring,” he said to me. “I dread what slumbers in the East.”
As I sat amidst the tumult of voices on that first night, I knew that the energy he has sensed building in the East had been set loose upon us and that the Nation of the Philosopher Kings slumbered no more.



Part II
Washington, March 1793 EE

For weeks they grew like a fungus, a scourge upon the mountains. Every day, they gained a little ground, a little more absolute control of the highlands. As the perimeter of their encampments grew, we became more and more uncertain of what technological nightmares waited in the heart of the mountains.
Then, finally, the axe fell.
I was called from my home just after dusk that their assault had begun. Rushing into the bunker, I found the mood somber. The first reports were shocking.
“We are now less than two hours into this fight and our casualty reports are already staggering.”
“They have completely neutralized at least one of the infantry battalions defending Boston.”
“Their tanks are moving with incredible speed. All of our infantry units in the city are reporting some contact with the enemy already.”
“They’re crawling all over the city like ants!” someone shouted in despair.
“Mr. President,” one of the sunken-eyed Generals from the command center said morosely. “Boston is lost. By morning their infantry will move in to occupy the city.”
The President looked stricken. All the arrogance of a few weeks before was gone.
I came in close to his ear. “Mr. President,” I implored him. “It may not be too late. We must move in all our infantry to the capital.”
“To the capital?” he said in a hushed voice, not looking at me and responding as if I was the voice of a phantom.
“They will move against the capital next, sir. It is only logical. Pull back all our infantry at once. If you hurry, there may still be time to save Washington.”
“Save Washington?” he repeated, rising and stepping forward.
“We will, sir!” someone shouted naively.
“Urgent cable, Mr. President. From a guard post four miles south of the capital…they’re coming!”
“Who is coming?”
“The Philosopher Kings. We just received a wire that their tanks are rolling toward the capital at high speed.”
“How many?”
“The cable said hundreds…hundreds and hundreds, sir.”
“Get them to confirm!”
“We can’t. They’re gone. We’ve lost contact.”
The President’s eyes stayed unmoored and he sat down awkwardly, as if he had just suffered a stroke and could no longer control himself.
I receded to the corner of the bunker where the Commander of all cavalry, a fellow student of General Jackson, was watching the scene. “The situation here is hopeless,” I told him. “You and I must leave at once and muster forces outside of the city. They will capture this bunker soon.”
“Yes,” he agreed.
“Dispatch order to all our cavalry divisions, we must prepare for a counterattack.”
“We cannot be ready in time to stop these tanks if they are already outside the city.”
“Washington will fall within the day,” I told him. “We must organize a counter-attack. Maybe if we strike fast enough, and if the people rally to our side…maybe.”
“Those odds don’t sound good,” he said grimly.
“I know,” I conceded. “But we cannot let them remain in the capital without at least trying to dislodge them.”
“If we fail, we will have used most of our offensive potential.”
“Don’t you see what’s happened here?” I asked. “Three hundred years ago we thought we were strong enough to challenge them and so we made threats and demands and finally declared war. Not one shot was fired between us, but they drew up alliances with all our neighbors who were more than willing to bind together to bring us down. Those alliances have lest us in the heart of a nest of enemies for centuries. War has dragged us down, kept our resources tied up, eaten away at our population, eroded our scientific progress and erased our trade with other nations.”
“You’re saying—“
“It was their plan all along. To weaken us, to weaken us as much as they could before this day. They were waiting until they had such an insurmountable advantage that they could launch an invasion of the entire continent. They will crush us, and of course, all our old enemies will watch. The Sumerians and the Iroquois. The Dutch and whatever’s left of the Vikings. They won’t be alarmed…it’s only America that’s being taken over. They’ll be glad. They will celebrate our doom, and once we are conquered, it will be too late for them. It’s sinister and perfect.”
“I would think that is all the more reason to hang on to our offensive resources as long as possible,” he said.
“No, my friend,” I answered. “Either we beat them back out of Washington now, or all is lost. I will gather all the infantry battalions I can to join this fight, but soon our command and control will be fractured. If we cannot retake this city by year’s end, then America is broken.”
Just then, I heard the first thunder of a shell landing outside.

 

[Helmling]

The Dutch Mayor
Breda, 1808 EE

I waited nervously in my office as the sounds of the battle shook the window pains behind the shutters. From the distance, the whole things sounded like child’s play. The crackling of the distant rifles was faint and sounded like toy firecrackers. Occasionally the wall would quake with a thud of a cannon firing, and then there would be a second reverberation as a target was hit or missed—I knew not which. I was attempting to send some sort of message by trying to conduct a normal day of business, but of course most of my staff had stayed at home, huddled in cellars and shelters. As the afternoon dragged on, I was growing frustrated with the lack of progress reports from the military commanders. All my calls to the barracks and local headquarters were going unanswered. I knew General Ucklassen resented my intrusions into his command, but damn him, I deserved some information! He would try to convince me later that it was just the unreliable telephone circuits again, but I knew better.
“Mr. Mayor,” a meek voice asked as my office door cracked open.
“Yes, what is it?”
“There’s, um…some soldiers here to see you,” my secretary said softly.
“Well, it’s about time. Send them in!”
“Yes, sir.”
I rose, intending to give Ucklassen or whatever lackey he had sent to placate me the load of hell he deserved for keeping me uninformed all day long, but I was stopped short as soon as the door swung all the way open.
A lanky, peach-faced man swaggered in wearing a type of camouflage uniform I’d never seen…but I surely recognized the green flag patch on his arm.
“Mayor Klassen?”
“Uh, yes…I…”
“Colonel Hathaway, sir, nice to meet you.”
In confusion, I accepted his outstretched hand.
“Now, obviously we have a lot to discuss,” he said boisterously. “But right from the get-go, I’ve got to apologize for not having a better plan to present you with—“
“Wait a second,” I interrupted. “Who are you?”
“Uh, Colonel Hathaway, I’m with the Special Operations Command. I’ll be your occupation liaison here in Breda.”
“You’re Greek!”
“Well, English, actually.”
“But you’re a…a Philosopher King?”
“Well, yes, sir. Of course.”
“I don’t understand, What’re you doing here?”
“As I said, sir, I’ll be your occupation liaison here in Breda.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, sir, I don’t want you to think of it as me being in charge here. We want you and your local political structure to remain in operation and continue doing what you do. Well, for the immediate future anyway. Once again, I’ve got to apologize because you see—“
“Where are our soldiers?”
“Yes, of course, POW’s,” he said with a solemn nod. “I’m afraid our policy on that is pretty clear. Locals or not, the disposition of POW’s is a problem handled at the command level. Way over my head. So I can’t secure the release of any prisoners. That has to be handled in the context of the larger campaign.”
“What larger campaign? We’re not enemies!”
“We don’t like to think of anyone as an ‘enemy,’ per se. That sort of cognitive paradigm makes later integration into the Nation problematic. We tend to think of those whom we are engaged in combat with and who have yet to be occupied as ‘adversaries,’ or just ‘opponents.’ See, it’s always been our thinking that those who don’t yet belong to the nation are just…misguided, not evil or anything like that. That sort of demonization of the enemy—woah, there I go! Slip of the tongue, sorry! But what I’m saying is—“
“Why did you attack us!” I shouted in frustration.
“Oh,” he said, taken aback. “I’m sorry. I thought that was obvious. You see, the annexation of the Netherlands has begun.”
“The annexation?”
“Yes, I know you probably thought you had quite a while. I mean, America is still only half-occupied, after all. And that’s what I’ve been trying to apologize for, too. You see, me and my team, we thought we had quite awhile too. I mean, hell, some of my guys haven't even finished their Dutch language training. But three days ago we get a roll-out order and Boom! we're on a plane before we can kiss the kids goodbye. You see, as it turns out, the rail lines from Texcoco through here and on to the Hague will allow us to advance on Calixtahuaca more quickly. You see, really the only thing limiting the speed of our advance is how fast we can keep supplies flowing to our forward units. So even though it wouldn’t seem to make much geographic sense, sweeping down through this area will allow us to consolidate control of the Aztec-Dutch subcontinent much more quickly than if we limited our target to American-held territory alone. So our occupation plan and timetable is not as refined as it would ordinarily be, and that's what I'm trying to apologize for. But don't worry, me and my boys--”
“I don’t understand!” I protested.
“The annexation has begun, sir,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ll be in Amsterdam by fall.”
“But why?!?”
“I…I just explained—“
“No, why would annex us? That’s the question. We didn’t attack you. We haven’t been at war for centuries. There was just that one conflict and it was almost completely bloodless, I mean we were just honoring our treaty—“
“None of that matters,” he said, this time with some sort of compassion or perhaps pity in his voice, as if he was speaking to a poor, confused little boy. “Did you think we only came here for America? Is that what you thought?”
“What did you come for?”
“Everything,” he said in disbelief.
“Everything?”
“We’re all going to stand together on this. That’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“My people will not stand with you!” I proclaimed. “We will resist you.”
“Oh, maybe at first, yeah. It happens from time to time. But in the end, you’ll all see it our way.”
“Your arrogance is astounding.”
“Have you seen a map recently? I guess yours are probably looking pretty out of date,” he said. “I mean, we are changing the lines on almost a daily basis now. Would you like to see mine,” he asked and he produced some sort of tablet from his back pocket. To my surprise he opened it like a book and it glowed with light. I looked at it and saw the “pages” of the book were flashing images, which changed as he touched them. I had heard of the Philosopher Kings’ computers, but I did not know they were so small now. “Here,” he said, pushing it toward me. “All the green, that’s where we are. America’s already on the ropes. It’s just a matter of time until we can secure their northern territories. Once that’s done, the rest of the continent will be a simple matter of logistics.”
“It’s unbelievable. You can’t possibly!”
“Can’t?” He laughed at me. “Mr. Mayor, we’re almost finished.”



Note: I just noticed that the mini-map on this image might be confusing because it's centered on Greece and not the area shown in the image. Sorry.

 

[Helmling]

The Iroquois Bride
Salamanca, 1826 EE





We were doomed, he and I. We should have paid attention to the signs. We met the night Gedes fell. Of course, it was not until the next morning that we learned the Philosopher Kings had moved in and occupied the city, which was the last any foreign power controlled on their Eastern continent. Everyone knew that someday the Philosopher Kings would take it over, it was only a matter of time. It was not that which worried us when the news spread. What worried us was that the Philosopher Kings controlled all of America to the southwest. If they were striking against Gedes…what next?
We all had our answer soon.
As the war started, Hilokoa and I both know that soon he would have to enlist. All the men his age were to be sent to war. He told me this, the second time we met. I felt bound to him from that time on, from that moment when I heard the fear in his voice. Soon he was forced to give up his father’s shop and take up the uniform of an infantryman. He trained near Salamanca and so we continued to see each other. The war was growing closer. The Philosopher Kings had already torn through the periphery of our country. Soon Salamanca itself would be threatened.
Hilokoa knew time was running out.
When he asked me to marry him I did not hesitate. We had not known each other long, but it seemed as though the world was ending, there was no time for caution.
He bought a small house. He took me to it and showed me the courtyard, the size of a cupboard in the store he had given up. He thought I would be disappointed, but I had been a ward in my aunt’s home for so long that anything I might call my own was a treasure.
His orders came in and we wed at once. Our haste bought us one night together as man and wife in that tiny house before the rumbling of the enemies’ tanks reached Salamanca.
When he left the next morning, done up in his fine uniform, I wept like I had not wept since my parents died—my first memory, that day when I was seven.
“I have never seen you cry,” he said, wiping the tears from my eyes.
“I have not in so long.”
I think he wanted to tell me that he would be back, that we would be together, that we would win the war and everything would be all right. He wanted to say all that, but in those days, not even the most naïve child would believe such lies.
So he said nothing. He walked through the little door of the courtyard and into the streets.
Three weeks later—without any word from him—the Philosopher King tanks rolled through the streets. The mountain province was still holding out to the southeast, but we knew the war was over and they had won.
The house had been lonely. The neighbors were old and stayed inside. My aunt, so pleased to see me leave at last, had never called on me. She had never even inquired if my husband had returned. I sat in the courtyard, with the thick blanket from the bed we had shared just once wrapped around me. Outside I heard almost nothing. From time to time there would be a great rumbling, as if a train had just ploughed through the narrow street. I knew these were the horrible tanks of the Philosopher Kings. I stayed like this for days, but finally, my food all gone, I stepped outside.
As I approached the market, I saw that there were many people about, as if things were normal. That impression disappeared, though, when I saw the enemy soldier standing atop a strange vehicle—which did not look at all like the tanks I had imagined or which had been depicted in the newspapers. He held a small black object in his hand and seemed to be talking into it. His voice, speaking in Cayuga, was then amplified by an unseen machine.
“…upmost importance. The exhaust from the rear of the tanks is extremely hot. It is very important that you tell your children never to play near them and that you never approach the back of one of these tanks yourselves…” He then repeated the message in Onondagan.
I came to the edge of the crowd listening to the man. “What is happening?” I asked a woman.
“Oh, they do this every day,” she said. “They warn us about things and tell us when food will be given out. I’m waiting for that.”
“What about our soldiers?”
“They say most were taken prisoner.”
“How can we know?”
“You should already,” she answered. “Listen, he’ll say that next.”
“We continue to attempt to identify all those killed in action,” the man said from atop his vehicle. “but the process is slow. Our first priority is for prisoners to notify their next of kin of their status. That process is ongoing, but most of those letters should have been delivered by now. If you do not receive notification that your relatives are being held in the prisoner of war camps outside the city then I’m afraid that means they were killed in battle. If you suspect that you have lost a loved one, then you may proceed to the provisional morgue facility in the southwestern quadrant of the city to try to identify the remains. Because there is inadequate refrigeration available most of the dead have already been buried for health reasons. However, we have photographic records of all the deceased who have been recovered and they are indexed along with any personal effects recovered from the battlefield.”
“What is he saying?”
“Eh?”
“If we have not heard then—“
“Then he’s already dead,” she answered. “My son’s letter came two days ago. He’s in their camps. He’s being fed.”
I staggered backward.
I broke into a run back to the house, forgetting how badly I needed food. I starved through three more days, eating scraps and crumbs.
Each minute that no word came, I became more and more sure I knew Hilokoa’s fate.
I bathed, for hours each day. I would sit in the water and stare at the tiled wall around the wash basin. When I rose I looked at myself through the blemished mirror that stood in our narrow bedroom. I was growing unspeakably thin. I imagined that I would leave the door shut and waste away. Just die. Die along with my husband. Along with my nation.
One afternoon, as I sat silently in the courtyard, drawing nearer and nearer to madness, there was a knock. I ignored it at first, but it came again.
I rose and stepped over to the door, dragging the blanket along with me. When I opened the door, one of them was standing there.
His sinister green eyes met mine. I was startled. If I’d had any strength left in my bones, I might have slammed and run. I was so weak, though, that I welcomed whatever crime he had come to inflict upon me. I hoped only that he would choke the life out of me.
“Excuse me,” he said in an awkward voice. His Cuyaga was weak and he spoke it with a thick accent. “Are you Alsoomse Oakawa?”
I nodded.
“You are the wife of Hilokoa Oakawa?”
I still did not speak because now I knew what he was here to do. He was not going to do anything to my body or my house. He was going to do worse.
“Hilokoa Oakawa? Your husband?”
“Yes,” I said faintly.
He reached up and swept his hat from his head.
“Mam,” he began. As he spoke, I realized that it was not so much his knowledge of the language that hindered him, it was mainly a tremble in his voice. “I’m Cpt. Leto Corybantes. I had the honor of meeting your husband on the field of battle.” He cleared his throat and looked down. “He was part of a artillery group that was shooting in on one of armor columns as it approached the city. My team was told to intercept his team and stop them.” He forced himself to look at me. I found myself locked into the gaze of those terrible light eyes—like demons’ eyes. “We ambushed them and, um, most of them gave up at once. But your, uh, husband. He fought bravely.” He swallowed awkwardly. “He was shooting from behind something with a pistol. We went behind and came over behind him. He hit me, twice in the chest.” He tapped his chest to illustrate.
“He shot you?” I asked softly.
“Yes, mam, dead on. Incredible shot, for having spun around in an instant. We, um, do have body armor…” he sighed. “body armor which protects us from most bullets in your army’s guns. Um, but even then, um, the shots still have quite an impact. And the shock of taking the hits, um, did cause me to pull reflexively on the trigger of my weapon. It was as if my hand spasmed.”
“Are you telling me you killed my husband?”
“Yes, mam. I’m sorry, but I did.”
“You’re sorry?” I asked with no emotion. The hunger and the isolation gave the whole thing a kind of dream-like quality.
“Yes,” he answered. “Because I feel his death was unnecessary. I feel as though, if I hadn’t…I feel like we could have captured him alive.”
I looked down. I could not feel anything toward this man. He wasn’t real to me.
“I have here,” he said while handing me a slip of paper. “The location of his grave. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to contact you sooner.”
I took it but did not look at it. I felt faint, but did not want to give this monster the satisfaction.
“Mam,” he said meekly. “Do you need anything?”
“Need?”
“I have some food packets here. I don’t know if you’ve been out for rations, but I brought a few just in case.” He produced some dark green pouches from a bag at his feet.
These I did not take, but simply stared at them blankly.
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Go away,” I said and started to turn inside.
“I don’t feel I can do that,” he said and I shot him a look of surprise.
“Go away,” I said again, finding some spirit in my rusty voice.
“Mam…Mrs. Oakawa…you see, um, we have a tradition. When you take a man’s life, when you see him die at your hands, it is your duty to look after those who relied on him. Wife or children. Parents…it is our tradition that his family becomes your family.”
“You want me?” I said angrily.
“Not like that. But you’re my responsibility.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you!” I answered him fiercely. “Your tradition be damned!” I slammed the door, but his voice came through.
“The food…please take the food, mam. It’s right out here, right here.”
I stormed through the house. My wrath was boiling in me, giving me new life. I could not, though, think hatefully of the food for long. My hunger gnawed at me, begging me—against all my indignation—to take the food. I lasted an hour before I went to the courtyard again, telling myself I would just see if he had left it there. I opened the door and peeked into the twilight.
He was there, stooped over a little book under a small electric lamp attached to his shoulder. He looked up.
“What are you doing here?” I shouted.
He did not answer. I saw the pouches of food lying beside him, but I refused to take them. I slammed the door again.
In the morning, the food remained by the doorstep, with a note.
“I must report for duty. I will return this evening to see if you are well. Please, accept the food.”
I slammed the door, leaving the food there and letting the note fall into the street.
An hour later, I opened the door and grabbed the pouches.
He kept his word and at dusk, he was there again.
I did not speak when I opened the door.
“I guess you probably didn’t take the food. Somebody, somebody else must have taken it. There’s not a lot, you know? Not a lot of food. I brought more. It’s not from me really. It’s from the Occupation Authority. It’s not really from me, if that’s what bothers you.” I looked at the pouches that he held out. We both knew I’d eaten that morning. The arrogant ass…I told myself that I’d eaten once and could go without. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, I told myself.
Then I snatched the food and stole inside, slamming the door on him.
From the upstairs window, I peeked through the curtains to see if he was still sitting by my door. I could see, just barely, the glow from his little lamp. I waited until the moon had set and the night was pitch black. I snuck down to the courtyard quietly. I opened the door as slowly as possible. He was there, sitting against the wall with his head slumped forward. My rage exploded.
“Get away from me!” I yelled furiously and stormed back inside.
He did not obey. Every day he would be there. A note in the morning. A knock in the afternoon.
For three days in a row, I did not answer. He did not budge.
“Did you go anywhere today?” he asked, when next I relented and opened the door at his knock.
“What do you care?”
“I’m just worried about you,” he answered. “If all you do is stay inside there. It must be…lonely.”
“All you do is sit outside my door.”
“That’s true. But you know there are communal meals. We’re holding them down in the marketplace. For people who are tired of the meal packs, there are big dinners…lunches too. You could go there. I mean, I know, I know you don’t want to go with me, but you could go and talk to people. Have a nicer meal. If you wanted to get out.”
“Why won’t you leave me alone?”
“It’s a tradition,” he said. I slammed the door in disgust.
The next day I went to the lunch at the marketplace.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” a middle-aged woman asked me when I sat down with my plate.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t come before.”
“Ah,” she said. “I’m Nadie. These are my boys,” she said, gesturing to two young children knowing at chicken bones.
“Is no one afraid the food is poisoned?” I asked her.
“By who?”
“The soldiers.”
“Ah, no, they’re not so bad.”
“Not so bad?”
“No. They’ve done nothing bad,” someone volunteered from across the table.
“Apart from conquering us!” someone else said almost in a yell.
The table broke up with laughter.
“One of them won’t leave me alone,” I said when the laughter died down.
“Oh,” an older man just down from me said. “You lost a father? Husband?”
“Husband.”
“They are determined when it comes to that,” Nadie agreed. “He must have seen him die, right? They don’t do if unless they see him die. A tank shell from a mile away, no. But if it’s right up and personal, they say it’s their duty.”
“Yes, yes,” I said quickly. “He won’t leave me alone.”
“You could try complaining,” the old man suggested.
“To whom?”
“The Occupation Authority.”
“No,” Nadie corrected him. “They won’t do anything about that. As long as he’s not being intrusive, they won’t do anything. They all believe in it, this tradition of theirs.”
“I hate it. I hate him.”
“Eat up, dear,” she said.
That night he came again. I opened the courtyard door.
“Hello,” he said timidly. “Need anything tonight?”
“Explain this tradition to me,” I said. “What is it you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Forgiveness? You want me to forgive you? You can just leave.”
“I don’t want anything from you. I only want…for you. For you to be taken care of.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know, I see that.”
“You do? You’re a liar.”
“No,” he said. “You wouldn’t have let yourself starve. You would’ve been ok.”
I stepped back, almost frightened by his insight.
“How did,” I started but checked myself and ignited my anger again. “How do I get rid of you? There must be a way!”
“I just—“
“What is the point of this tradition?” I asked.
“If reconciliation isn’t possible between one man and one woman, then what hope is there for the Nation?”
“What?”
“If there can’t come a day when you won’t look at me with hatred, then how can we succeed in bringing all our conquered peoples together? That’s the point of the tradition.”
“What’re you saying? If I go on hating you, then we win the war?”
“I don’t know about that,” he answered. “But we sure don’t.”
“Why would you tell me this? All I have to do is hate you now? You’ve told me how to beat you?”
“How else could I ever earn your trust?”
“You won’t, don’t you see? You will never earn my trust. I will never look at you and see anything other than my husband’s murderer! Never!”
Once more, I slammed the door. But nothing changed. Each day I would sneer at him, and each day he would persevere.
When the fall rains came, I thought that his harassment would finally be over. The first night that the sky poured down, I snuck to the door and looked outside.
“What are you doing!” I shouted into the sheets of rain coming down on him.
He shook his head.
“Get out of the rain!”
“Are you inviting me in?” he asked.
“No, I’m telling you to go back where you came from, damn you!”
“I’m alright,” he said, water flowing over his pale face. “This is a field combat uniform. It’s designed to keep us warm. We’re trained for this,” he said with a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Damn you!” I repeated and went inside.

Note: Ok, I've gotten carried away...I've hit the forum's maximum characters per post...TO BE CONTINUED...

 

[Helmling]

Continued from previous post

My anger stewed inside me as I paced the narrow halls of the house. I knew he was there, indefatigable and undaunted. I pictured him—smug and self-satisfied in his “noble” sacrifice at my door step. As my sleepless night dragged on, I lost all control. The idea came into my head and stayed there. It churned and burned within my spirit until I could think of nothing else. I marched through my kitchen, snatching a knife as I went. I dashed through the sprinkling rain slipping through the branches of the tree in the courtyard and threw open the door. I pounced on him where he slept by the door.
I saw his eyes open in shock. They glinted faintly in the dim moonlight glowing softly through the underbelly of the canopy of clouds above. They had the same gleam as the blade of the knife as I plunged it toward him.
But my vengeance was undone in a swift movement. He caught me by my arms and spun both of us in the air until I landed painfully against the street. The knife fell from my hand and we were left there in the soaking rain. I was prone, with him above me. His hands locked my folded arms and his legs held down my sides.
He scooped me up and carried me inside.
He seemed to navigate the tiny corridors intuitively and set me down in the washtub. He stood me up, but I remained as inert as I had underneath him in the street. I stood, mute and trembling.
“You need to change out of those clothes,” he said, but I did not answer. I stood, looking forward. I could no longer be sure if I was acting a part to spite him or if I had lost myself in the attack. “I will leave if you promise you that you are going to change your clothes right now.”
I did not move.
“I will not leave you shivering one more moment,” he shouted, trying to jar me from my stupor. I still did not move, even when I felt his hands undoing my blouse, then pulling my skirt away. He did not stop until I was nude. I felt his breath on my skin as he swabbed away the water from my skin with a towel. He wrapped me in a thick robe that hung on the wall and took me to my bedroom. He packed me in between several layers of blankets.
I lay there…as still as I had been through it all. He sat by my bedside, watching me until I fell asleep.
In the morning he was gone.
That night, his knock came as usual. I walked to the door and opened it. The rain was still coming down all around him.
“How are you? I was afraid you'd catch pnuemonia,” he asked.
I looked at him. His light, shaven face. Those damned green eyes.
“Come inside,” I said. He did not smile, but merely followed me quietly.
I brought tea and he sat across from me at the table, in the place my husband had never had time to use.
“How do you do it?” I asked him.
“Do what?”
“Do you bathe?”
“Oh,” he answered with a laugh. “I wake up before dawn and go into the barracks early to bathe.”
“Will you live here in Salamanca?”
“Yes, my unit’s been assigned here permanently.”
We were silent for a long time.
“Should I apologize for last night?” I asked.
“No. Maybe I should.”
“I thought you might rape me,” I admitted.
“I tried not to look at you…that way,” he said. “but it was—“ he stopped himself. I looked up from my tea and his eyes were on me, going through me. “It was difficult.”
“I want to go on hating you,” I told him.
“Tell me about him,” he said.
“About?”
“Your husband…”
And that was my first conversation with Leto. We would have more. Some weeks later, I finally saw the book he was always reading from. It was a book on how to learn Cayuga. We laughed when I told him it wasn’t my native dialect. That was the first day we laughed together. The next day, he showed up with a different book. I let him join me at the communal dinner. Nadie was surprised, but the others were surprisingly receptive to having one of the Philosopher Kings sit down among them. The second time, someone did accuse him. He did not back down, but nor did he become angry. He explained their way, their philosophy. To hear it from their lips…I cannot say I believed it, but there was a passion to him as he explained it.

It was still more than a year after that before I invited him into my bed and before he became my husband.

 

[Ravers]

Wow! Great work Helmling, stunning writing and an original concept too. My only concern is that there should be more civs for you to soliloquise (sp?)

Many thanks for posting this as I am enjoying it immensely, keep up the good work.

 

[Helmling]

Ravers:

Hey, talk to Sid Meier. I'd play with 100 civs if I could.

Thank you very much and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

 

[Helmling]

The Viking Aspirant
Trondheim, 1820 EE

The soldiers eyed me as I approached their checkpoint. Two of their vehicles were parked on either side of the road, with a man on the machine gun of each. Between them was a gate strung with barbed wire. Their headquarters lay a good distance removed from their positions.
Like hawks, their eyes tracked me as I stepped closer and closer.
“What’s your business, please?” one called out to me.
I looked them over, from their helmets studded with electronics to the fearsome weapons they held in their hands and even down to the glossy sheen of their dark boots.
“I want to join,” I told them.
“Join?”
“How can I join?”
“The army?”
“Yes,” I answered eagerly.
“Only citizens may serve in the army,” one answered.
“Technically, no,” another corrected. He stepped closer to me. “The laws for you here are the same for anyone who moves voluntarily to the Nation. That means that you must wait five years before officially applying for citizenship. That application can be finalized after another five years. But once your application is accepted, then you can serve. It’s legal, but rarely done.”
“I want to serve now, though!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s not possible.”
“When will you attack Sumeria?”
They smiled to each other. “Sorry, but the annexation time table isn’t exactly public knowledge.”
“But you will attack them?”
“Eventually Sumeria must be annexed, yes. That’s true of every country.”
“But when?”
“We don’t know, kid,” the other said dismissively.
“I want to help fight Sumeria!”
“You ‘want to?’” the more polite of the two said suspiciously.
“My father died fighting the Sumerians,” I told them. “When Sumeria took back the city from America, they denied us our independence, even though we’d been allies. So my father was one of the partisans fighting them. They caught him and executed him.”
“That’s a sad story,” they agreed.
“So that’s why I want to fight them. I want to help you smash them!”
They looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Go on, now,” the polite one said.
“I want to fight!”
“You’ll never fight for us,” he replied.
“Why not?”
“We don’t go to battle because of hatred or for revenge.”
“Yeah, this is bigger than all that,” the other said.
“No Philosopher King soldier can think like you do. We’d never accept you. It would be too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?”
“Just go on, son,” the other one said. “Go back to school or something.”
“I’ve been out of school for two years!” I shouted back.
“Well, that’s a shame. When we get things rebuilt, you can go back. You’re too young.”
“Forget revenge,” the other one said. “It leads nowhere.”
“But I have to fight!”
“No, you’d do it because you want to. We have to.”

 

[dnassman]

Outstanding story!