INES III: Storm Tapestry

Looks like. Now I'm leaning on switching to weekly Tuesday updates.
 
I still want turbo. Tuesdays fine, though I'm still in preference to Monday.
 
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Imelda Greco wasn't sure whether she preferred busy nights or slow nights. Around important hollidays, her hotel would be hopping. Otherwise, life was slow. Businesswise, she always preferred a busy night to a slow night: what that meant was more money for her. But of course what that also meant was that she was working harder at the front desk, whereas on a slow night she could just read a book or shoot the breeze with one of the guests. Or get bored. Very bored. Tonight was one of those boring nights.

She knew she shouldn't be bored. PCR [Partito Comunista di Roma, Roman Communist Party] leaders were meeting upstairs in one of the unused rooms. She had heard that they were planning to stage a demonstration, having been inspired by the French Republicans. Dangerous? Oh, yes. Dangerous for herself? Without a doubt. They had heard about the Praetorian Guard and what they do. They had a tendency to infect and weed out any opposition wherever they stayed. But the PCR had been meeting in her hotel for months discussing this without there being any sign the Praetorian Guard knew. With this in mind, Imelda Greco felt that she could relax.

But around midnight, the lobby door opened, and on the outside were men in uniform, with the armbands many preferred not to see. At the head of the group was a man she had seen on holo-nets but had hoped to not meet in person: Dante Gallo, Praetorian Guard duce. The man was known for being shrewed and ruthless. And since he personally was leading the squad, clearly they knew who was in the hotel.

The squad followed behind Duce Gallo to the lobby desk. He fiddled with his hand in one of his breast pockets till he pulled out a small piece of paper. He was still reading it when he stopped at the front desk, then he asked, "Are you Imelda Greco, the owner of this venue?"

Imelda Greco tried not to swallow. That would give away her nervousness, something she didn't want to do. But when she began to speak, her voice squeaked, and she cleared her throat, giving her nervousness away. "I am her," she said.

Duce Gallo smiled menacingly. "I've received word that leaders of the PCR are meeting in this hotel tonight, and that they are plotting against Consul Romano. Is this true?"

She had to buy time for them, give them a chance to escape, if that were possible. Underneath the countertop was a walkie talkie with a pager button; it wouldn't make any noise on her end, but the leaders had one in her room, and pressing the button would cause it to beep. She had an idea to get to it. "Well, if you tell me their names, I can check the registry to see if they have a room."

"You don't use a computer for your registry?"

She laughed nervously. "I don't have the fanciest hotel, if you haven't noticed." This, at least was true.

Duce Gallo began to move around the counter. "Let me see this registry," he said.

"You can't come back here!" she said instinctively...then suddenly backed up when she realized what she had just said and to who.

His piercing eyes shot into hers. "I will do what is necessary to protect my Consul," he spat. He kneeled down and saw the walkie-talkie. He grabbed it with his gloved right hand. "What is this for?"

"For communicating with my staff," she said, which was true most of the time, but not tonight.

Duce Gallo straightened up, still holding the walkie-talkie. With him so close, Imelda Greco realized just how tall he was. He had an odd smile as he looked at the walkie-talkie, a smile that frightened Imelda Greco. "I think you'll do just fine without this," Duce Gallo said. He began to squeeze the walkie-talkie. The plastic whitened under the pressure, then cracked, then crunched, collapsing inward. He let go, and the shattered device fell to the floor, little pieces scattering.

Imelda Greco was speechless after this superhuman display. She looked up at him, her face pale. The smile still on his face, Duce Gallo leaned over, nose-to-nose with the small woman, his black hair falling over one of his eyes. "Where are they?"

She stuttered, but afraid of what else he could do, confessed, "They...they...in room 214."

"Thank you for cooperating," he said. The triumphant smile snapped off his face, replaced with a Spartan iron sternness. "Colombo, Bruno, arrest this woman immediately. The rest of you, come with me."

Eight men and women followed the Duce up the stairs. A man and a woman came around the counter, the man holding handcuffs. "Turn around, hands behind your back," he said.

Imelda Greco complied. The woman slapped the handcuffs around Imelda Greco's wrists. The two then grabbed her arms, each with one hand. When the woman grabbed her, Imelda Greco shuddered. Her hand...it didn't feel natural. It felt hard, mechanical...and had a hell of a grip. She walked with them as the shouting upstairs began.
 
From: Second Japanese Empire of the Proletariat
To: Those Whom It May Concern

We are hereby liquidating our east Pacific island chains to the highest bidder on SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY. This is a ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME-OFFER and EVERYTHING MUST GO. Contact us with a price you consider reasonable.
 
EDIT: my bad
 
"Most noble Rabin,"

"What is it?" David Rabin asked irritably. He snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray at his desk and threw down the papers. "If this is about the idiot who tried to bomb the Supreme Court, I already know about what happened. There is a spot in hell for that man for his utter failure just above Muslims."

"Sir, it's not him. Something is happening outside."

"What?" Rabin said. "This is the poorest neighborhood in the damn nation, what could be happening that concerns us?" Rabin got up and looked out the window next to his desk. Lifting the blinds slightly, he looked out at the conflagration outside. It was definitely a mob of some sorts. Made up of poor immigrant workers and...police officers?

"Get everyone important in here. Now."

Within minutes, the office was filled with higher Echelon Lehi. They all looked rather nervous.

"Gentlemen," Rabin said slowly. "There is a mob of civilians and law enforcement agencies gathering outside the building. Did any of you send out or receive men within the last two hours?"

"Yes," one officer said, a slight, pale-skinned man. "I signed out two of our men. They were going to shoot a mosque up or something."

"There are no mosques in this town, or at least none worth the trouble," David said coldly.

The pale man, fear in is eyes, hurriedly tried to explain himself, but Rabin waved his hand, signaling a guard came forward and slit his throat.

"We've been betrayed," Rabin said, kicking the corpse aside. "Ready my vehicle. Half of you will stay and hold them off. Leave this failure's body here. May the Devil take him."

And they were off. Rabin sped out the secret driveway of the compound as gunfire between the Lehi and the vigilante mob erupted.

"Where are we heading, most noble Rabin?" the driver asked.

"Sinai," Rabin said. "The Shia Muslims will assist us in our escape to Egypt. Israel has been awakened to us, it seems. With any luck, we'll have more targets to choose from in Egypt, the Whore of Iran."

--------------------------------------------------

Andrew Mordecai was a military man, not a politician. However, he found himself as Secretary of War under the Livni administration nevertheless. His major function in peacetime, it seemed to be, was to view the latest military innovations the Israeli army would use, however boring or inadequate they may be.

"Thus, we can increase our effectiveness 20% by adopting extended magazines with our anti-tank riflemen," concluded the military egghead. Two words that, Mordecai thought, should not go together.

"Thank you, professor, I will take your views into consideration," Mordecai said, getting up to leave.

"But sir, I haven't shown you our best creation so far."

Mordecai raised an eyebrow. "There's more?"

"Oh yes, sir. Top secret, in fact. We picked this up from Meccan resistance fighters a month back. It's almost ready for combat testing, in fact." He looked as though he was about to wet himself.

"Very well, bring it in," Mordecai said, collapsing back in his chair.

This time, the scientist did not bring a model or a collapsible chart out of his bag. He was instead ferried to a firing range, where a soldier stood waiting in...

Mordecai never thought he saw anything so incredible in his life. Standing a good nine-feet tall, the soldier was wearing an exoskeleton suit, something he saw only in science fiction novels up to this point. The suit was encased in welded armor of different shades of gray, which looked to be the newest edition to the suit.

"Impressed, sir?" the scientist said, smiling.

"Admittedly yes. An amazing feat, professor, as I am hard to impress. Just what is this, anyways?"

"Right what it says on the tin, sir. The Order developed the prototype in their last days as a nation. We managed to sneak it out in time, and we attached the armor just a few days ago. The Order called it the Sampson I."

"After the biblical hero, no doubt," Mordecai said. "Is it going to keep the name., then?"

"No, sir," the professor said. "We were actually going to name it after...well....you,"

"What?"

"Well, you are a modern day hero, sir." the scientist told him. "They still call you 'The Falcon of Sinai', don't they? We felt it was appropriate to name it after you."

"Mordecai I. Sounds catchy," Mordecai pondered. "I like it. I'll take it up with Livni when I meet him. Back to the armor. How does it function?"

"When the armor is fixed, it should go toe-to-toe with all but the heaviest armored units. They can go for about a week between charges. As for agility..."

The scientist signaled the soldier in the suit. The exoskeleton jogged down to the opposite end of the track, picked up a heavy metal target, then jogged back with it, dropping it on the ground with a thud. The movements were almost human.

"The Order scientists really outdid themselves," the scientists said. "They worked in little more than caves, and came out with this. We could barely have done this in years."

"Very impressive. What stops this from becoming a reality, then?"

"Weapons, sir," the scientist said. "The Sampson already had onboard weapon systems, but they were removed to make space for armor and additional agility enhancement drives. We are working on a solution to this problem."

"Which would be...?"

"Well, we figure that a big soldier should get a big gun, shouldn't he? We are currently working on a rifle appropriate enough for the Mordecai to use on the battlefield. Simple solution to an essential problem."

Mordecai shook the scientist's hand. "Thank you for showing this to me, then. Livni will certainly hear of this, I assure you."

The scientist looked pleased as punch. Mordecai was also pleased as well. Mordecai imagined a battlefield a few years into the future. He saw Iranian irregulars fleeing in terror from the juggernauts holding the Israeli lines, regular soldiers following the machines to total victory. A Israeli-dominated Middle East would be a sight to behold.

Mordecai damn well wished he would be around to see that day.
 
19 hours until deadline. 5/20 orders in.
 
Oh shoot. i forgot.
 
Spoiler :
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Toumani sat, staring across the city. Slowly he pulled his crystal cup to his mouth and took a slow drink. In the distance, through the glaring sun he could see thousands of the Séegin working in the distance, some on buildings, others on the new railraods. A giant myraid of bodies expending their time and energy for the glory of the Revolution. He soaked it all in, and laughed to himself. His assigned Kɔnɔntɔn stood behind him stoic as ever.

He looked to them. "Comrades, now is the time to test out the speakers." The Kɔnɔntɔn nodded, and one of them ran inside. Before long, the speakers throughout Bamako began playing the anthem of the Revolution.


Link to video.

The Séegin seemed to hurry their progress with each verse, with many singing the in unison with the recording in Bambara. This, is progress. Toumani thought. Halfway through the 3rd stanze of the song, a familiar hum over took the streets of Bamako. The Red Bandits. Flying in perfect formation over the Workers Hall of Governance, dozens of planes flew in perfect formation, almost blocking out the hot Malinese sun. The planes flews straight through the city, over crowds of cheering Séegin. A click over the intercom follwed, as the music quieted.

book-of-eli.jpg


These are the planes in our air army. They contain our sky infantry. This squadron is known as the 'Red Bandits'. They are the ones protecting you. They are the men that further the revolution. Give thanks to them, for they are the ones to exact revenge on the enemies of the revolution. You may enjoy them for another 39 seconds, before you must get back to work. For your unnescessary pause in operations, you are required to forfeit a nights worth of rations. The Kélen watches and smiles at your progress.

The music got loud once more. Fortress Africa's finest defenders. May these Séegin realize what they just viewed. After admiring the site of the growing city of Bamako, Kélen Toumani, sat back, relaxed, and allowed the Internationale to fill his head.

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Carlos Velez stood at the heart of the Patagonian Parliament about to address it for the first time. He had just been elected Prime Minister on a platform of change and a new era for the Patagonian people, and that is what he will give them.

"Greetings my fellow citizens, you have elected me to this position because our country needs change to bring it to the world stage and this we can do but it will require a change that all of must take. This change is that we must think of ourselves as more than just citizens of Patagonia, but instead as citizens of the Americas."

"We have already begun this process with the joining of the TUA and with it our country has improved, but we must do more and think bigger."

"Our neighbor Brazil is currently faced with a threat that could become a plague that could spread across the continent"

"This plague is similar to one we faced many years ago, foreign meddling. Our people were under the yoke of foreign rule for many centuries but we threw it off and took our own destinies. Now it is back with a new face and a new master but its desire is the same, it wishes to take our destiny from us and make us do what foreign masters wish."

"Now our history with Brazil is not a peaceful one, both of our sides have complaints against the other. This is true of all states but we must put that aside. We must look past the differences between us and grasp on to the similarities that unite us. We must become more that Patagonians of Brazilians but instead become Americans."

"We shall provide our neighbors with the aid that they need to fully crush this insurgency that they face. Our planes shall strike from the sky and rain down upon the insurgents. Our ships shall form a shield around the coast preventing foreign hands from reaching across the sea to pull the strings of these insurgents. Together our two nations will forge our own destinies."
 
Hope: Everywhere at Once

Freedom was something that was very alien, very alien and very welcome for many of the peoples of the former French island colonies. Freedom to speak as they pleased. Freedom to worship as they pleased. Freedom to choose and elect their own government representatives. The Caribbean Republic had always had a strong tradition of democracy, was known for it in fact (1), and to join in that tradition had meant a new freedom. And a profound sense of worth, of a voice in the nation and of a place in the world.

One of those freedoms was to leave one’s body behind and travel via ASIST to witness the senate, to be part of the government process directly.

Khaiyum was one such individual who exercised that freedom. One Monday morning, taking a half-day break from work, he walks into a local government building in his hometown of Suva in Fiji state. He walks to the counter and speaks briefly to the ASIST salesmen and paying 50 Archipelagoes Solidarity Pesos (ASP) he is shown to a small table where an interface device waits for him. He orders a coffee and some cigarettes and places the ASIST over his head. Immediately he can see the ‘virtual world’. ASIST does not override the real world, it complements it. He can see that he is in a virtual ASIST shop and that there are prices scrolling by and other users coming and going. He pulls up a menu using only his thoughts and selects the Havana Senatorial building. Immediately he is flung across thousands of miles of water to the capital of the Confederation. He finds himself in a spacious virtual building decorated with Greek-style colonnades. All around him are millions of virtual avatars speaking a hundred different languages. They have come to witness the signing of the first amendment to the Republican constitution, one that governs the number of votes each of the state representatives commands. (2) Khaiyum can witness the debate and signing through halo-receivers set in the real-world Senate that project into the virtual world. Some of the senators have ASIST of their own and can perceive and interact with the virtual avatars around them, simultaneously perceiving their own ‘real’ world and the virtual world around them.

Some say that the revolution that came to the islands was a political one or an ideological one, but many have argued that it is also largely a technological one. Diverse people from throughout the world’s islands, separated by geography and poverty, by language and culture were suddenly united and much of that union came from the sudden availability of a parallel world that they could interact with and interact with each other within. It is this world that makes it possible for a man in Fiji to witness, in real time, the signing of the first amendment to the CUWA constitution.

It is a new era, one of promise and cultural growth, a time of optimism for a people too long without hope. Cheering ensues!!!



(1) See nation description, “world-renowned democratic tradition”
(2) Ultimately each representative controls a number of votes equal to the square-root of their state’s population, so that larger population control more votes but not in a linear fashion, thereby ensuring that smaller states retain a significant voice in the confederation.
 
OOC: I don't see the French as being THAT restrictive in the monarchial period, and as I understand it neither did Androgans- restrictions on free speech enough to make an unfree society by modern standards yes, but not as bad as, say, the Soviet Union. Similiarly, the French monarchy until near it's end legalised abortion and divorce- it's unlikely they would make Catholicism more than a formal state religion.

Propaganda, of course, can say what it likes- I'm arguing about the 'facts' of the NES here.
 
OKay... fair enough. I am not trying to do propaganda. i'm just not up to date with how you were running your affairs. I thought colonies would not be equal to the mainland in your system.

Anyway, its just a story... i'm not trying to say anything in diplo or anything.
 
OKay... fair enough. I am not trying to do propaganda. i'm just not up to date with how you were running your affairs. I thought colonies would not be equal to the mainland in your system.

Anyway, its just a story... i'm not trying to say anything in diplo or anything.

The colonies wouldn't have a vote- but then again in practice the Emperor appointed the government. As I said, the system was mildly opressive. I thus don't see why the people would spontaneously (as opposed to because of propaganda) rejoice in supposedly massive gains of freedom.
 
9/20 orders in. Little less than 12 hours until deadline.
 
Second Japanese Empire's orders sent.
 
I entered the Royal Army Occupational Center with caution as always. I had my passbook, I had a reason to be there, and I even knew quite a few of the soldiers there. Plus, this wasn’t Toronto; this was New Hamburg, and we didn’t require many soldiers to keep an eye on us. Almost everybody took the Oath of Allegiance to Queen Victoria, and the troublemakers who didn’t had already been taken away. Almost no one was executed or taken prisoner any longer; if we found bodies hanging they would say curfew breaker instead of saboteur or partisan. But still, it never felt right to go in here, like a mouse heading into a pit of snakes.

The HoloNet was playing, a speech by Prime Minister Gates talking about the brave boys protecting us up North. A private was at the desk looking bored, drawing pictures of dogs. I handed him my passbook, and he grunted an approval before letting me in. I had a job, given to me by the Army like all Canadians. Some were told to keep doing what they were doing, some got shipped off to work in a factory. Others like me, were too young to have a job like that, but too old to not put to work, so they had me putting up posters of the Queen and of Royal Soldiers smiling and waving while at the same time scrubbing away any vestiges of Old Canada. When the Lieutenant was able to see me, he put some bills in my hands, and then a new stack of papers to nail up. I looked at them and saw something odd; all subjects were to report to the Parade Grounds two days from now.

Normally, I’m not concerned with what I nail up. If it doesn’t tell us that the Royal Army is our friend, it’s telling us we’ll get shot if we’re not in our homes by sundown. But this worried me. There had been two similar summons before. The first was for what they called “valuable state assets”, but it quickly was shown to mean anyone with a more advanced education or power. The aides of the mayor, a few priests, the teachers at the school, and Nora, the lady who ran the library. The soldiers told us they would be doing valuable work for the transitionary government, but no one has heard from them since. The second time was when parents were ordered to bring any child under the age of thirteen to the parade grounds. That was the only time anyone in this town had thought about rebellion. Soldiers broke down doors and took children out of their beds; if parents tried to fight back, they were shot down in their homes. That’s how my mom died. They tried taking my sister Mary, but my mom wouldn’t let them. She begged and pleaded for her child, but the soldiers pulled her off and shot her. Mary and I started crying, but the soldiers took Mary, and left us stunned with what had just happened. Even my brother Sasha, who was never happy and never sad since he came back from Quebec, was upset. When I got home, we had the circular there too, and my father told me to pack some food and clothes. When the day finally came, every Canadian in New Hamburg was present. We were ordered to give the soldiers any money and valuables we had, and then we would board the train in St. Cloud, where we would find out where we’d go. First though, the soldiers separated us. Young, fit men were sent to the left. The women were to go to the middle, and the elderly, sick, and disabled went to the right. I pleaded with the soldier, but he pulled my father to the right, while Sasha and I went left, even though at fifteen I was a stretch to be working in a factory. We crowded the barren train car, with no seats remaining, and we were packed till it seemed the car was about to burst.

As the train left, I heard several rifles crack. I grimaced at the thought, but I made a new resolve; I will not cry.
 
Orders sent.
 
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