1890, Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky
Fyodor jerked awake with a splitting headache. This wasn’t all that unusual, between the winter, harsh even by the standards of veteran of the Bering Straits, the slabyy southerners who were making up more and more of his crews, and the Chuchki stealing his whales he was spending less and less time sober. What was unusual was that, instead of waking in his cabin or a greasy barroom table, he was apparently in an orderly office. The walls were covered in maps of the Directory, each with dozens of pins of varying colors stabbed into it haphazardly. Covering the desk he’d been using as an improvised pillow were several large stacks of paper, each set into their section of the grid carved into the desk. The entire room stank of lemon and soap, as though someone had soaked the entire place in an effort to clean it.
It was only when he heard the polite cough from the far side of the desk that he even noticed the small man sitting behind it. After his eyes managed to focus on the mousey man he began to notice the strange details, namely the enormous thick-rimmed glasses and an honest-to-God freshly pressed naval uniform. Who would bother to press their uniform out in this God-forsaken wasteland? His eyes drifted to his epaulets, noting the pair of double-headed eagles ornamenting it, and moved back to the-
Fyodor snapped fully awake as his body rose to its feet and his hand snapped into a salute to the Vice Admiral who was smiling at him. He could see another person step into his peripheral vision, but was too scared to tear his vision from the highest ranking military officer in the Pacific Directory. The man to his side broke the awkward silence first, his voice smooth and vaguely musical.
“Captain Fyodor Stravinsky, formerly of Saint Petersburg and current commander of the PDS Reindeer, PDS Monticello, PDS Oryol, PDS Tsvet Voiny, and the PDS Miach.”
The man moved around behind him, appearing in his peripheral vision on his far side, “Is this correct?”
“Sir yes sir!” He barked out, still on automatic as he frantically tried piecing together exactly what happened yesterday. The Tsvet had docked last evening, he and Pyotr went off drinking with Jenit, there was a scary looking-. He stopped breathing when he realized that the cler-the admiral had spoken and he’d completely missed it. Peripheral man was chuckling quietly and he could hear some kind of meaty growl behind him. Did this cler-admiral have some kind of pet bear? The admiral frowned slightly and shook his head as the Mr Periphery began to openly laugh.
“Oh for God’s sakes man, at ease. Vitus, knock it off. Captain Fyodor, I am Vice Admiral Volya, the newly appointed Chief Director of the Pacific Directory. I’ve heard a great deal about your exploits in the Chukchi Sea, brilliant work opening trade relations with the Inupiat.” The man’s voice was high and would occasionally break, like he was going through puberty again.
Fyodor slowly unfroze, hand dropping to his side, as Vitus slowly got his laughing under control. He’d done what with the Inupiat? Was the admiral talking about those natives he bought those adolescent Right’s from? Pyotr must’ve added it to the report, that was the sort of official paperwork he loved. “Th-thank you sir. I thought it was the appropriate thing to do at the time.”
“It most certainly was. I have need for men of instinct like you.” Volya stood, standing an unimposing 5’6”, and stood staring out the window as he continues. “A man like yourself is concerned with the here and now. The world is growing more chaotic. Just look at the massive number of revolutions and invasions that have taken place in this region alone: China’s shattered into three countries, Korea has just finished out of major civil war, the old Shogunate collapsed only twenty years ago, and don’t even get me started on the Atlantic War.”
Fyodor adopted his ‘Superior Monologuing’ expression of polite interest while Volya continued, “I’m going to be completely honest with you Fyodor: two weeks ago I was the Undersecretary of Naval Affairs in the Directories. I was sent here because I had some ideas which intrigued the Chief Director and the previous Director of North Pacific made some poor choices in terms of allies.”
Fyodor stood stock still, only half-paying attention. He’d finally put together what happened the night before. He was drinking with Pyotr and his daughter when he was approached by a friendly man wearing whaling furs, some Muskovite merchant who was trying to make it big buying whale oil. The four of them got royally drunk on the local rotgut, if he remembered it was the stuff made from fermented reindeer milk. They made some drunk half-promises about some sort of meeting and- Fyodor snapped his head and got a good look at Vitus. The man was an imposing 6’2”, with well defined cheeks and a supremely pleasant expression. He was the man who’d gotten him drunk the night before. Was this the meeting? Vitus cocked an eyebrow and made a slight gesture towards Volya, who was still talking to the window.
“-primary job is to maintain Russia’s Pacific interests and make it so we can, at will, seal the Arctic Ocean from the Pacific. The necessity has been made apparent by the rising power of the Shogunate and the Taiping Mandate. If we are able to control trade through the Arctic then that gives us tremendous influence on the world stage, making it possible for Russia to trade with any power without having to pay British tariffs through Suez or take the tortuous routes around Capes Horn or Magellan. To do this I need men of action, who have the skills I lack. Men who are unafraid of responsibility or hardship. True patriots.”
Fyodor nodded slowly, not entirely sure where this was going. Volya suddenly turned in place and rested his hands on the back of his chair, staring directly into Fyodor’s eyes. Fyodor mouth went dry as the man’s eyes drilled into his skull and filled his world. “Are you such a man?”
Fyodor’s mouth opened and shut a few times as he stood transfixed by Volya’s eyes before he could finally choke out his answer. “Y-yes sir.”
Volya smiled broadly at that and turned back to the window. “As I said earlier, the previous Chief Director of the North Pacific had made several poor allies and... retired early. He took several of his friends on the Board of Directors down with him, leaving several vacancies. I believe you would be perfect for the role of Director of Naval Affairs.”
Fyodor nodded slowly, then realized that Volya couldn’t see it and spoke, “I would be honored sir.”
He could see Vitus smile as Volya relaxed slightly, “Good. I will be having a meeting of the Board of Directors two hours past noon where I will discuss our broad strategies. In the meantime Jurgen has summaries of the latest draft of changes I intend to enact.”
Fyodor stood there awkwardly at attention for a moment until Vitus, still smiling, gestured to the door. Fyodor turned and froze in shock yet again as the source of the beastial growl from before became apparent. It was the ugliest man, or at least he assumed it was a man given he’d never seen a grizzly so small, he had ever seen, no mean feat given his usual company. Those parts of his face which were visible between his fur cap and the beard seemed to be entirely composed of scars, with a pair of evil-looking glints where his eyes were buried under immense eyebrows. The man, Jurgen apparently opened the door and grinned, revealing a mouth with only half its teeth left and the rest stained deep brown with tobacco. Fyodor sidled past him into the hallway, holding his breath in case the man was contagious, and felt him press what felt like ten pounds of paper into his hands. To Fyodor’s surprise Jurgen was capable of human speech, talking in heavily accented Russian, though Fyodor would eat his hat if he could place the accent. “Vequired veading”
“Why am I vead-reading everyone’s material?”
“Heh, zat iz just your material. Ze boss haz big planz.” Jurgen flashed another grin and stepped back into Volya’s office.
Fyodor stumbled out of the building, clutching the binder of paper tightly to his chest. He nearly dropped it when a mound of fur larger than him enveloped him and his daughter’s voice cut through his mental shock, “Father, we were so worried about you! Noone knew where you disappeared to last night and we couldn’t find you- father?”
Fyodor shook himself, the image of those eyes fading as he focused on his daughter’s concerned face in the midst of the fur. Off to the side he could see Pyotr shucked his overcoat and draped it over Fyodor’s shoulders. “I think we might be in a lot of trouble”
“Why? What happened?”
Fyodor shuddered, trying to shake the image of those eyes from his mind. He hadn’t stared into the eyes of a true madman since he lost the Zvedza. “The new boss has Plans.”
Jenit still looked confused, but Pyotr look worried as the capital letter clicked into place. Interesting times were coming and God help any innocent whaler who got in their way.
Volya only relaxed when Jurgen clicked the lock and slid the bolt on the door firmly into place. He turned to his friends, smiling sheepishly, “Well, how did I do?”
Vitus smiled back, “You did fine sir. I’m telling you, these are simple folks out here, nothing like those proklyatyy politicians back in Moscow.”
“I couldn’t bear to look. Did he listen?”
Vitus barely hesitated, “He was transfixed sir, though I think you should’ve stuck with the shorter version of the speech.”
“I couldn’t help it, once I get going its-”
“I understand sir, but these people aren’t interested in lofty ideals or economic geopolitics. They need tangible goals and bite-sized pieces of information. They need you to simplify the world for them.”
Volya shook his head, still smiling sheepishly, “So you’ve explained, but I still don’t understand. If they’re going to trust me as a leader they need to know that I’ve got a good plan.”
“Yes, but they don’t need to know every piece of reasoning behind it. That’s why it's called trust sir.”
Jurgen laughed, a sound like someone cutting down trees by running a train into them, “Ze boss iz ze simple man like me. Zat iz vy vee vork so vell together, ve each knowz our ztuff. You haz ze people skillz and ze boss haz ze planz.”
Vitus rolled his eyes at this, “And vat er, what do you do Jurgen?”
“I am ze most important von of all: ze funny guy” and he made a sound approximating a cat being dragged across a blackboard which vaguely resembled laughter. Volya joined him and, after a moment’s hesitation, so did Vitus. They then got back to work, Vitus and Volya returning to letter-writing while Jurgen fetched tea. Volya’s vision of a unified North Pacific would take unwavering focus, dedicated labor, and lots of paper to achieve.