“You don’t have to be insane to be Imperial; but it helps!” was a slogan that gained popularity in the wake of the Schism to describe how out-of-touch the monarchists were with the world around them. The phrase gained a much more disturbing significance thanks to the work of Liang Zheng, a psychologist-cum-political philosopher. When Zheng was a university student in the pre-Cataclysm days, he participated in a trip to the Balkans and attended a lecture by Karađorđević on the lingering legacy of Tippett’s term in the UN. Enthralled by the eloquent Serb, Zheng began seeking out ways to apply his psychology background to political studies. He first gained international recognition for his collaboration with the German political scientist Johann Richter on M.A.D. Men, the seminal treatise on why the supposed guarantee against strategic nuclear war had so utterly failed since the latter half of the 22nd Century. Richter provided the traditional theoretical framework for analysis; Zheng supplied a deeply personal evaluation of how the thought processes of the individual leaders produced the ‘perfect storm’ for atomic holocaust. Zheng’s approach was not unknown to mainstream political study, but nonetheless attracted attention both for its unorthodoxy and ultimately its legitimacy as a view unto the subject.
Shortly following the Fourth Cataclysm, as the Empire set its sights abroad, Zheng published The Madness of King George: The Cult of the Xiang Dynasty. Much had been written about the psychological profile of the infamous tyrant, and Zheng was well-versed in the literature of his contemporaries. But whereas most confined the scope of their studies to the man himself, or treated the monarchist resurgence as a twice-removed relative of the original apparatus, Zheng went further, arguing not only that Imperial ideology was directly descended from George, but also that having festered for centuries underground, isolated from criticism, it had mutated into a literal cult that was even more volatile than its patron inspiration. The book quickly became an international bestseller (with the expected ban in the Empire); while some scholars were skeptical of Zheng’s more extreme conclusions, they nonetheless concluded that it provided a viable and valuable psychological foundation to analyze Imperial society and policy.
The truth was even worse than Zheng thought. Catholicism in China had been tainted by nationalist overtones ever since President George imposed it on the country, and following the GUNS War the Deming government commenced an ambitious campaign to render the faith non-partisan. Combined with the total disgrace of the Vatican in Rome and subsequent 32-year “Wandering Church”, the militant core that considered itself loyal to the monarchist ideal became ever more isolated from the mainstream, resulting in what was nicknamed the Georgian Sect. Shunned theologically, over the centuries it absorbed the characteristics of the political movement, producing the cult Zheng described: a merger of mythological superstition and historical revisionism that diffused George’s insane beliefs into an entire life practice. Fleeting whiffs of this simmering powder keg had inspired the derisive attitude toward the Empire, yet extraordinarily, it had managed to conceal the full extent of these troubling roots from the broader public. The ludicrous motion by the government to sanctify the king was in fact a reflection of this cult’s most conservative element; at the opposite end were people wholly convinced that George was God himself, and that anyone who disputed his divine revelation was an agent of Satan that needed to be destroyed.
And so, when the field officer finished addressing his troops in preparation for the invasion of Manchuria, he appended a short prayer, ending with “Glory be to the Father, to the Son, and to our Divine Emperor, amen.” But the soldiers that echoed him did not mean God and Jesus; they were referring, specifically, to George I and Otto von Constantine. For all intents and purposes, the Holy Trinity and the Xiang Dynasty were inseparable.
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The glorious liberation of Manchuria was supposed to be the overture to the triumphant resurgence of the Empire. The original plan, to execute the country’s leadership and install a puppet government, was straight out of George’s own handbook; when the coup failed, the army defaulted to Plan B, direct intervention. An invasion would shatter international faith that Beijing had not been involved in precipitating the civil war, but frankly, with the world fixated on the rapidly escalating European war, the government felt it could sneak the conquest under the radar. With China’s support, the rebels would seize control of the country in a few weeks. Then, citing the usual excuse of “cultural kinship”, the Manchurian government would assimilate into the Empire.
That was the plan.
Nearly one month to the day that Imperial forces crossed the border, both sides had fought to a stalemate. Beijing steadily increased its commitment, yet found the Manchurian loyalists pushed back with equal measure. Brass was confounded; Jing blamed the Union. What should have been a quick grab was quickly turning into a quagmire, with the danger that other powers would take notice and involve themselves before a definite victor emerged.
But while Xining issued a lengthy and scathing attack on Beijing’s “true colours”, the government was paralyzed when it came to the question of a committed response. Contrary to what the Imperial hawks believed, the Union was uninvolved. It did, however, have reason to back up the legitimate government: it knew, and Beijing did not, that Manchuria sat on top of Iblis’ chemical legacy; some even believed the country’s peculiar environmental traits were a result of compromised weapons vaults. If the Empire annexed the region, it would only be a matter of time before it found the treasure and subjected the world to mass atrocity. Coruscant, although statutorily its suzerain, was notoriously reluctant to involve itself in affairs outside its own borders, and could not be relied on to intervene. Thus it was the Union’s duty to oppose the imperial grab; but with the danger of open war with Beijing dangling over its head, the government continued to stall.
Xining was equally puzzled by Manchurian resilience. Having ruled out Coruscanti support, and seeing no other major power inclined to invest itself, the source of the loyalists’ strength remained elusive. It was possible, of course, that the Manchurians had harnessed some hitherto-undocumented arsenal of mutant abilities, or perhaps even tapped into the real armouries; but the intelligence siphoned out of Beijing indicated no extraordinary incidents or chemical deployment. The Director-General volunteered to conduct a fact-finding mission in person; there was considerable consternation by Cabinet, but the recognition that a) she was undoubtedly the best person for such a job, and b) the government’s own desire to solve the mystery, overcame the opposition, and she was approved travel to the war zone.
What Xining did not know was that the Director-General had an educated guess about how the resistance was mustering. She had her own reasons for keeping it secret, however, not the least of which was the political firestorm an unconfirmed rumour would touch off. But, sure enough, three days after journeying to the front lines, she found what she was looking for. Dressed in Manchurian uniforms, fighting alongside Manchurian units with Manchurian weapons, were Korean soldiers. They would have been indistinguishable to the Imperials, even to the Union; but she had commanded Korean troops ages ago and recognized familiar cues in their discipline and fighting tactics. While the combined forces were still outnumbered on the ground, they had the benefit of playing the defender against what proved to be a less-disciplined rebel army and tactically opaque Imperials. But what was particularly noteworthy was just how well-organized the Koreans were, often surpassing the native Manchurians on their own turf. This was not simply a relief force; whoever was in command had a set goal, and had been practicing for some time.
Six days into her reconnaissance, she decided to break her phantom observation and contact the Korean expedition. She had identified theatre headquarters in Anshan and an ever-shifting field HQ closer to the front lines. That night, at 22:16, she walked toward the front gate, hands on her head. When the sentries caught sight of her they immediately shouldered their weapons; at 100 metres they ordered her to halt. She waited patiently, grinning cordially; after ten minutes with no sign that she would either leave or step further forward, an officer and a squad of guards met her in the no-man’s land. The guardsmen formed a perimeter, weapons at the ready, as the officer approached.
“You can put your hands down,” he said in northern Mandarin. “This is a military installation; who are you and what do you want?”
“My name is Akane,” she replied in Munhwaŏ, and the officer’s face flashed a mix of surprise and fear. “I wish to speak with Commander Harbinger.”
He eyed her up and down apprehensively. “On what business?”
“We have a mutual interest in the Imperial presence in this region that I wish to discuss.”
“You can tell me,” he replied curtly.
“I would prefer to speak with the Commander.”
The man snorted, sarcastic. “Do you have the proper clearance?”
“One better,” she smirked. The soldiers’ grip tensed as she reached into her inside coat pocket, withdrawing a decorative pin. “Give this to the Commander,” she instructed, holding it out. The officer hesitated, then gingerly plucked it from between her fingers. He examined it closely, a black circle with an intricate red design. Tapping it from a few angles to make sure it wasn’t a bomb, he put it into his pocket and sighed.
“Alright, follow me,” he said, turning about. She followed him as the guards followed her, guns still at the ready but no longer primed for combat. All eyes fell on the group as they entered the grounds; she simply smiled politely. They arrived outside what looked to be the command building. “Wait here,” he ordered, before disappearing inside. She placed her hands behind her back, casting lazy glances left and right. She could practically smell the tension; they knew the presence of this intruder carried immense consequence to the operation, but whether it was a boon or a looming threat they couldn’t tell. She found their worry ironic; the Koreans were blessed with a power they didn’t even know they had, an indomitable spirit that continued to raise the embattled country out of the ashes no matter how many times ill fortune struck it down. Manchuria was a battleground for a chemical cornucopia; their latent superweapon was stronger than all the WMD on this world combined, in potential for both destruction and restoration. Perhaps if they had known, they could have averted the tragic history of the 2100s. But woe betide the rest of the world if that sleeping giant were to awaken on the wrong side of the bed...
The officer returned; he held the same dismissive face, but she could tell the reply had rattled him. “Follow me,” he beckoned inside. Hanging bulbs cast hard spotlights down the narrow hallway. One or twice they had to squeeze by opposing traffic that always stopped and stared. How fitting, she thought as they delved deeper into the complex, The Empire won’t let go of the past, so now the past rallies to claim its debt. This is turning into one big family reunion.
“If I may ask,” he started as they ascended a staircase, “How do you know the Commander?”
“We go back quite a ways,” she replied. “We both hated the Empire before it was cool.”
They arrived at a nondescript door. He knocked twice. “Come in,” called a voice. He opened the door and she stepped through; evidently instructed to keep the conversation private, he then promptly returned to the hall, closing the door behind him. Commander Harbinger stood at the opposite side of a table covered in a strategic map of the region, face shifting rapidly from professional stoicism, to astoundment, to irrepressible delight.
“Hello, Kizzie. It’s been a while.”
