Queen Catharine Victoria Akinyi, new minted monarch of the East African Kingdom, surveyed the construction site of her new palace, the Royal Towers. The planned structure, a sky scraper which was to host both her living space and the government’s offices, had only just begun to take shape. The tower was to be the centrepiece of a new Dar es Salaam, and by extension of a new East Africa. The site was a swarm of activity, a mirror of the economic boom that was sweeping the nation in the wake of the quarantine’s demise.
Queen Akinyi had been provided a trailer, guarded by her new royal guard, with concept sketches of the finished Towers, and information on its costs. “Three years?” She was leaned in, inspecting a time table of expected progress.
“Yes, ma’am,” an architect and engineer answered, “but we’ll be building temporary offices for you at the secondary site. We can have you moved in there by the end of the year. If, uhm,” he glanced nervously at the guard, “the royal guard approves.”
Catharine shook her head slightly, “It’s not the guard who needs to approve. But, keep me informed on the progress.” She turned and left the trailer, stepping out into a pleasant autumn day. Her personal guard followed, leaving an aide to coordinate the communications between the Queen’s office and the engineering firm responsible for the construction of the Royal Towers.
“This is all pretty ambitious, isn’t it,” the voice came from a small cluster of officials.
“Maybe a bit of ambition is what we need, eh?” Catharine retorted. She gestured to the woman who had spoken, calling her over. Once the woman had, the pair began to walk, trailed by the ever present royal guard. “So, you decided to join us after all. I didn’t think you’d like all the dirt and mud.”
The other woman, Alice Amolo frowned down at the mud that caked her shoes. “Well, it is a bit… Unpleasant. But it’s important to know what’s going on. No one’s willing to talk to us at the halls of parliament, but we get a scrap here and there if we tag along after you. So, I guess we don’t have a choice. And you, you just like bringing us to these places don’t you?”
“It’s important that we all remember where the real work of building the nation takes place. We may organize things in the offices of parliament, or a royal palace, or a military command tent. But the real work is done in the field. In places like this. By men and women whose names we don’t know, who won’t be written about in any history book. We’re fighting to win our independence from powers that saw us only as resources to be exploited. We can’t let ourselves fall into the same mindset, of seeing people and lands as just resources to add to our cause. I need to remember that, and so do all of you.”
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
The tent was lit by several portable lights, even though their light was almost nothing compared to the sunlight streaming down onto the East African savannah. Catharine Akinyi stood at the table the lights were aimed at, leaning her hands against its surface. She stared down at the map that spread across it, marked here and there with the symbols that denoted her own forces, and those that were the Kingdom’s intelligence on their neighbour’s positions.
“Colonel Mboya, I hope that preparations are going well?” Catharine didn’t look up from the map when she addressed a balding man to her right.
“Eh, yes Majesty. The Divisions are drawing up in good order. The Home Guard are a bit sluggish, but that’s to be expected given what they’re used to dealing with. Getting the air power in position has been more of a nuisance, though. The colonials didn’t leave us with ideal conditions for this sort of operation, especially with modern air power.”
“Stay on top of it. I want the Pacification effort ready to deploy on schedule. We absolutely cannot allow these territories to remain independent. They are an existential threat to us.” She pushed herself away from the table and turned on her heel, leaving the tent to a chorus of salutes and affirmatives.
Once outside, in the sun, she took a wide brimmed hat from a guard and put it on to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. Tents dotted the grasslands, and soldiers rushed throughout the camp in organized disarray. The queen strode through the seeming chaos, basking in the excited energy that was building in her troops.
“Jordan, I’m extending my stay here for another night,” she said to a guard, “I want to visit as many of the units as I can before I have to return to the capital.”
“Of course, your Majesty. However, we should leave early tomorrow. You’ll be missed in the capital if we remain too long, and that would spoil your plans,” he said, while jotting notes in a field journal.
“Yes, yes, Mister Osano wants another meeting tomorrow, I know. And of course the media will want to follow along again, so they can report on my every breath and word.” She was smiling as she spoke, giving lie to the mock annoyance in her words. “Schedule us to leave after morning prayers. Sneak us back into Dar es Salaam however you want. We’ll get our breakfast from our home cooks, instead of field rations, eh?”
“Of course ma’am. In the meantime, you’ll have enough time to visit these units before we have to leave.” He held out his journal, open to a page with listed units.
“Very well, let’s get our little parade moving. Time to raise morale before we ride off to war.”
“Colonel Mboya, I hope that preparations are going well?” Catharine didn’t look up from the map when she addressed a balding man to her right.
“Eh, yes Majesty. The Divisions are drawing up in good order. The Home Guard are a bit sluggish, but that’s to be expected given what they’re used to dealing with. Getting the air power in position has been more of a nuisance, though. The colonials didn’t leave us with ideal conditions for this sort of operation, especially with modern air power.”
“Stay on top of it. I want the Pacification effort ready to deploy on schedule. We absolutely cannot allow these territories to remain independent. They are an existential threat to us.” She pushed herself away from the table and turned on her heel, leaving the tent to a chorus of salutes and affirmatives.
Once outside, in the sun, she took a wide brimmed hat from a guard and put it on to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare. Tents dotted the grasslands, and soldiers rushed throughout the camp in organized disarray. The queen strode through the seeming chaos, basking in the excited energy that was building in her troops.
“Jordan, I’m extending my stay here for another night,” she said to a guard, “I want to visit as many of the units as I can before I have to return to the capital.”
“Of course, your Majesty. However, we should leave early tomorrow. You’ll be missed in the capital if we remain too long, and that would spoil your plans,” he said, while jotting notes in a field journal.
“Yes, yes, Mister Osano wants another meeting tomorrow, I know. And of course the media will want to follow along again, so they can report on my every breath and word.” She was smiling as she spoke, giving lie to the mock annoyance in her words. “Schedule us to leave after morning prayers. Sneak us back into Dar es Salaam however you want. We’ll get our breakfast from our home cooks, instead of field rations, eh?”
“Of course ma’am. In the meantime, you’ll have enough time to visit these units before we have to leave.” He held out his journal, open to a page with listed units.
“Very well, let’s get our little parade moving. Time to raise morale before we ride off to war.”
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
Catharine Victoria Akinyi, Queen of East Africa, was laughing. “They censured me? Really? They censured me?!” She slapped her thigh and cackled, throwing her head back in her mirth. “How fucking pathetic. How weak. Let’s remind them of who we are. What we are. Who they are.”
“Remind them, how?” Jordan Ogada, her Chief of Staff, asked.
“Sanctum is ready, isn’t it? Why wait?” Catharine had stopped laughing, and she leaned forward in her seat, both hands pressed against the table.
“Ah, yes, it is. I wasn’t sure we’d ever use it, to be honest,” Ogada said.
“What’s the point of having a weapon we don’t use? Send out the order,” she directed this statement to a nondescript woman who stood near the door.
“Yes, Majesty,” the woman said. She, in turn, opened the door and spoke quietly to someone outside it. There was a small shuffle as that person moved off, and she closed the door again.
“How long until we start seeing results?” Catharine asked.
“Within the hour, I think. Sanctum has been in position for the last week now. It’s just a matter of word getting out, and reports coming back,” the woman at the door answered.
***
Jeremiah Okelo knocked gently on the door to Senator Haama’s apartment in the Royal Towers. His assignment was easy, since the Senator lived right there, and had made his position on the bombing of Kampala so very public.
Haama opened the door partially, its motion caught by the chain that locked it. “Yes?” The Senator’s voice was barely slurred, and the faint smell of alcohol came off him.
Jeremiah snapped his hand down in the signal to go, and his squad members smashed their ram into the door, throwing it and the Senator into the room and onto the floor. Screaming was coming from further into the apartment, probably the Senator’s family, and Haama himself was sputtering and bleeding.
“By Royal order, you’re under arrest,” Jeremiah spoke loudly into the room. Two of his men moved past him into the apartment, searching for the Senator’s wife and daughter. His remaining squad member took care to handcuff Haama where he lay on the floor, before dragging the man upright.
“On what charge?!” Haama was gathering himself, and seemed to have regained at least some of his senses.
“Treason,” Jeremiah answered him, while scanning the hallway idly. Neighbours had opened their doors briefly, seen the Tower Security uniform, and returned to their homes in absolute and fearful silence.
***
Seventy nine Senators of the East African Kingdom had been arrested on the night that Queen Catharine Akinyi had given the order for SANCTUM to move forward. Their families and staffs had been taken into custody with them, and all had been held by Royal Security without access to the outside world. For two weeks the nation had waited with baited breath to see how their monarch would react to the men and women who had voted to censure her for the destruction of Kampala.
When the time came, the Senators and key members of their staff were arranged in the ruins of Kampala. Each person was held in a clear rectangle, their hands cuffed behind their backs. A small box capped each of the miniscule cells. Queen Catharine stood on a dais, facing the prisoners, dressed in her military dress uniform.
“You have all been found guilty of treason against our nation. You have been found to have acted against the interests of all East Africans. To have spoken against victory, and against your Queen. There must be a penalty to these actions. And let that penalty be administered here, the site that caused you to act against us all. You have been found guilty of treason, and we will cleanse you of that sin. You are condemned to death by fire, and as your mortal form is cleansed, so shall your souls be.”
She gave a sharp gesture to a man at a control booth, who pushed a button. The boxes atop the cells opened, pouring white phosphorous down on the unfortunates below. The screaming was muted by the cells, and barely transmitted over the broadcast. In the end, each cell was filled with phosphorous smoke, obscuring the corpse within.
Catharine stood watching it all, and only turned and left her dais when the executions were complete.
“Remind them, how?” Jordan Ogada, her Chief of Staff, asked.
“Sanctum is ready, isn’t it? Why wait?” Catharine had stopped laughing, and she leaned forward in her seat, both hands pressed against the table.
“Ah, yes, it is. I wasn’t sure we’d ever use it, to be honest,” Ogada said.
“What’s the point of having a weapon we don’t use? Send out the order,” she directed this statement to a nondescript woman who stood near the door.
“Yes, Majesty,” the woman said. She, in turn, opened the door and spoke quietly to someone outside it. There was a small shuffle as that person moved off, and she closed the door again.
“How long until we start seeing results?” Catharine asked.
“Within the hour, I think. Sanctum has been in position for the last week now. It’s just a matter of word getting out, and reports coming back,” the woman at the door answered.
***
Jeremiah Okelo knocked gently on the door to Senator Haama’s apartment in the Royal Towers. His assignment was easy, since the Senator lived right there, and had made his position on the bombing of Kampala so very public.
Haama opened the door partially, its motion caught by the chain that locked it. “Yes?” The Senator’s voice was barely slurred, and the faint smell of alcohol came off him.
Jeremiah snapped his hand down in the signal to go, and his squad members smashed their ram into the door, throwing it and the Senator into the room and onto the floor. Screaming was coming from further into the apartment, probably the Senator’s family, and Haama himself was sputtering and bleeding.
“By Royal order, you’re under arrest,” Jeremiah spoke loudly into the room. Two of his men moved past him into the apartment, searching for the Senator’s wife and daughter. His remaining squad member took care to handcuff Haama where he lay on the floor, before dragging the man upright.
“On what charge?!” Haama was gathering himself, and seemed to have regained at least some of his senses.
“Treason,” Jeremiah answered him, while scanning the hallway idly. Neighbours had opened their doors briefly, seen the Tower Security uniform, and returned to their homes in absolute and fearful silence.
***
Seventy nine Senators of the East African Kingdom had been arrested on the night that Queen Catharine Akinyi had given the order for SANCTUM to move forward. Their families and staffs had been taken into custody with them, and all had been held by Royal Security without access to the outside world. For two weeks the nation had waited with baited breath to see how their monarch would react to the men and women who had voted to censure her for the destruction of Kampala.
When the time came, the Senators and key members of their staff were arranged in the ruins of Kampala. Each person was held in a clear rectangle, their hands cuffed behind their backs. A small box capped each of the miniscule cells. Queen Catharine stood on a dais, facing the prisoners, dressed in her military dress uniform.
“You have all been found guilty of treason against our nation. You have been found to have acted against the interests of all East Africans. To have spoken against victory, and against your Queen. There must be a penalty to these actions. And let that penalty be administered here, the site that caused you to act against us all. You have been found guilty of treason, and we will cleanse you of that sin. You are condemned to death by fire, and as your mortal form is cleansed, so shall your souls be.”
She gave a sharp gesture to a man at a control booth, who pushed a button. The boxes atop the cells opened, pouring white phosphorous down on the unfortunates below. The screaming was muted by the cells, and barely transmitted over the broadcast. In the end, each cell was filled with phosphorous smoke, obscuring the corpse within.
Catharine stood watching it all, and only turned and left her dais when the executions were complete.
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
“REMEMBER KAMPALA”, the words were painted bright red across the side of a building. The words had been a rallying cry for the dissident movements in Victoria. Those who had once been part of the fallen rebel state of Uganda, those who yearned for the days of the Transitional Government, and those who thought the Queen a tyrant. Incidences of the graffiti had grown more common as the date had drawn closer to Queen Catharine al Victoria’s planned visit to Nairobi, the former capital of the rebel state.
The Pacification Squads had appeared lax in their duties, or incapable. The graffiti had become more common, and the Pacification Squads had made few arrests. The dissidents had grown emboldened, and yet more paint defaced more buildings in ever more public locations.
The image that the Pac Squads wouldn’t, or couldn’t, capture those who engaged in the vandalism was dispelled three days before the Queen’s arrival.
Sergeant Alexis al Mboya and her squad sat in a civil service supply truck that had been covertly converted for the operation. They wore their urban uniforms, their scarves tied so as not to obscure their vision, and their faces painted in the facsimiles of skulls that had become popular amongst the Pacification soldiers. They’d spent months observing the disquiet and dissidence in Nairobi, cooperating with the Royal Intelligence Program and rarely with the MAGI of SANCTUM. Their targets had been identified, catalogued, followed, infiltrated, and the enemy was designated for the night’s strikes.
Alexis checked her weapon again and saw her troops doing the same, a mirror to her actions. They’d been issued special equipment for the night’s operation, and she had drilled it into their heads that they be extremely careful with the white phosphorous munitions.
“Two minutes to target,” the voice of the vehicle commander came back from the shadowed cab where commander and pilot sat. Alexis confirmed that she’d heard and turned her attention back to her soldiers.
“You all know what to do. Just remember, we’re using rubber bullets, but they can still kill. Be careful. Command wants the traitors alive, so Her Majesty can dispense justice to them,” she said, her voice calm. They were close enough to the fight that she felt flat and empty. She always did just before going into combat, all her nerves and anxiety and fear draining away as adrenaline started to flood her system.
Soon the truck lurched to a stop and she pulled the service door open, her men dismounting into the night. Civilians nearby looked curiously at the truck, perhaps hoping for the food that they normally brought, but scattering in fear when skull faced Pacification soldiers poured forth instead. Alexis was the last out of the truck, moving on the heel of her squad and the other that had ridden with them.
The fighting was short and one sided. The traitors had no real weapons, and hadn’t expected the raid. Broken bones and concussions were the worst they suffered, while the Pacification Squads reported only minor cuts and bruises for their part. The operation was a rousing success, arresting more than a hundred of the traitors, along with their leaders.
***
Queen Catharine Akinyi al Victoria had read the reports on the operation that had taken place before her arrival in Nairobi. It coincided with her wishes, and had gone off perfectly. Or nearly so. SANCTUM had identified one traitor leader who hadn’t been present for the raids, and who had escaped the judgment he so rightly deserved. It wasn’t to be helped, though.
Now, though, Catharine was about to step out onto her dais to address the people of Nairobi. She smoothed out the soft white uniform she wore, the gold detail glinting each time she moved and it caught the light. It was something that her Chief of Staff, Jordan al Victoria, had convinced her to have made. And, in truth, he was right. It was appropriate for her to stand out from her Generals.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the curtains, stepping out onto the dais. She raised a hand, gesturing greeting to the citizens that had gathered for her. Many wore the dark brown uniforms of the military, but just as many wore the varied colours of the civilian population.
“Victorians!” Her voice boomed across the open space that had been prepared for her. “Your fine city has been defaced by the efforts of traitors. You’ve seen the words, remember Kampala! And those words should be heeded. Remember the lesson of Kampala well. The lesson that war has a terrible price. That we must unite, that the men who hide behind desks and send others to die must be made to suffer the same fate as those they condemn in war. Remember Kampala! Remember Columbia! Remember Hiroshima! Remember Nagasaki! Remember Dresden! Remember all those who died to the plague that the Germans brought to the world! And remember that we, now, stand living. It is our duty to ensure that their deaths were not in vain. To live well in their memory. To put an end to the brutal and grinding wars that the Europeans fought across the globe.
“Victoria aut mors. Victory or death, those are not empty words. If we fail in our efforts, we will be overrun by enemies who see us as chattel and property to be used until we cannot go on, and then discarded. Unification may be painful, but it is necessary. We must be one people, with one will. And we will bring our will to the world, and we will make it bend to us. Never again will we be seen as prey for other nations.
“That is what I promise you, Victorians. Remember Victoria!”
***
“Send them to Gehenna,” Catharine said to Colonel Mboya. “It’s been constructed. We won’t have to execute anyone on the mainland anymore.”
“Yes Majesty,” the Colonel responded. He’d been placed in command of Nairobi and its pacification. He saluted her and left the room, surely passing orders to his soldiers that would see the arrested traitors shipped to a prison complex built in the Indian Ocean.
Gehenna was a place that no prisoner would ever wish to go. No House, no hope, nothing but endless seas all around, and the Pacification soldiers who guarded them. And the execution chambers, where those deemed most worthy of judgment were sent to burn.
Only the leaders of Nairobi’s dissident movement would die there, but the survivors might well wish they had joined them in death.
The Pacification Squads had appeared lax in their duties, or incapable. The graffiti had become more common, and the Pacification Squads had made few arrests. The dissidents had grown emboldened, and yet more paint defaced more buildings in ever more public locations.
The image that the Pac Squads wouldn’t, or couldn’t, capture those who engaged in the vandalism was dispelled three days before the Queen’s arrival.
Sergeant Alexis al Mboya and her squad sat in a civil service supply truck that had been covertly converted for the operation. They wore their urban uniforms, their scarves tied so as not to obscure their vision, and their faces painted in the facsimiles of skulls that had become popular amongst the Pacification soldiers. They’d spent months observing the disquiet and dissidence in Nairobi, cooperating with the Royal Intelligence Program and rarely with the MAGI of SANCTUM. Their targets had been identified, catalogued, followed, infiltrated, and the enemy was designated for the night’s strikes.
Alexis checked her weapon again and saw her troops doing the same, a mirror to her actions. They’d been issued special equipment for the night’s operation, and she had drilled it into their heads that they be extremely careful with the white phosphorous munitions.
“Two minutes to target,” the voice of the vehicle commander came back from the shadowed cab where commander and pilot sat. Alexis confirmed that she’d heard and turned her attention back to her soldiers.
“You all know what to do. Just remember, we’re using rubber bullets, but they can still kill. Be careful. Command wants the traitors alive, so Her Majesty can dispense justice to them,” she said, her voice calm. They were close enough to the fight that she felt flat and empty. She always did just before going into combat, all her nerves and anxiety and fear draining away as adrenaline started to flood her system.
Soon the truck lurched to a stop and she pulled the service door open, her men dismounting into the night. Civilians nearby looked curiously at the truck, perhaps hoping for the food that they normally brought, but scattering in fear when skull faced Pacification soldiers poured forth instead. Alexis was the last out of the truck, moving on the heel of her squad and the other that had ridden with them.
The fighting was short and one sided. The traitors had no real weapons, and hadn’t expected the raid. Broken bones and concussions were the worst they suffered, while the Pacification Squads reported only minor cuts and bruises for their part. The operation was a rousing success, arresting more than a hundred of the traitors, along with their leaders.
***
Queen Catharine Akinyi al Victoria had read the reports on the operation that had taken place before her arrival in Nairobi. It coincided with her wishes, and had gone off perfectly. Or nearly so. SANCTUM had identified one traitor leader who hadn’t been present for the raids, and who had escaped the judgment he so rightly deserved. It wasn’t to be helped, though.
Now, though, Catharine was about to step out onto her dais to address the people of Nairobi. She smoothed out the soft white uniform she wore, the gold detail glinting each time she moved and it caught the light. It was something that her Chief of Staff, Jordan al Victoria, had convinced her to have made. And, in truth, he was right. It was appropriate for her to stand out from her Generals.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the curtains, stepping out onto the dais. She raised a hand, gesturing greeting to the citizens that had gathered for her. Many wore the dark brown uniforms of the military, but just as many wore the varied colours of the civilian population.
“Victorians!” Her voice boomed across the open space that had been prepared for her. “Your fine city has been defaced by the efforts of traitors. You’ve seen the words, remember Kampala! And those words should be heeded. Remember the lesson of Kampala well. The lesson that war has a terrible price. That we must unite, that the men who hide behind desks and send others to die must be made to suffer the same fate as those they condemn in war. Remember Kampala! Remember Columbia! Remember Hiroshima! Remember Nagasaki! Remember Dresden! Remember all those who died to the plague that the Germans brought to the world! And remember that we, now, stand living. It is our duty to ensure that their deaths were not in vain. To live well in their memory. To put an end to the brutal and grinding wars that the Europeans fought across the globe.
“Victoria aut mors. Victory or death, those are not empty words. If we fail in our efforts, we will be overrun by enemies who see us as chattel and property to be used until we cannot go on, and then discarded. Unification may be painful, but it is necessary. We must be one people, with one will. And we will bring our will to the world, and we will make it bend to us. Never again will we be seen as prey for other nations.
“That is what I promise you, Victorians. Remember Victoria!”
***
“Send them to Gehenna,” Catharine said to Colonel Mboya. “It’s been constructed. We won’t have to execute anyone on the mainland anymore.”
“Yes Majesty,” the Colonel responded. He’d been placed in command of Nairobi and its pacification. He saluted her and left the room, surely passing orders to his soldiers that would see the arrested traitors shipped to a prison complex built in the Indian Ocean.
Gehenna was a place that no prisoner would ever wish to go. No House, no hope, nothing but endless seas all around, and the Pacification soldiers who guarded them. And the execution chambers, where those deemed most worthy of judgment were sent to burn.
Only the leaders of Nairobi’s dissident movement would die there, but the survivors might well wish they had joined them in death.
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
“Have you seen this trash?” Catharine al Victoria asked and tossed the offending newspaper onto her desk. It was a copy of the Alabama Daily News from the Socialist Republics of America, a one time ally and friend to Victoria, and now quasi-rival. The article she’d been reading was a report on a fictional Victorian cruiser captured by the Socialist Navy. That no such incident had occurred hadn’t stopped the paper from printing its lies. Those lies would never have been allowed to go to press in Victoria, and the Queen had repeatedly expressed her disgust and confusion toward the other powers that allowed their papers to print such blatant falsehoods. All in the name of freedom of press.
“I read it yesterday, yes,” Jordan al Victoria, her Chief of Staff, said calmly. “I get a copy of any article dealing with us, from any paper we have access to. Given our position in the world, there’s quite a few people that talk about us. It’s inevitable that some of them are lying.” He took a sip of tea, trying to appear more calm than he truly was. Things were always somewhat dangerous when his Queen became angry. In truth, he suspected that some Americans were about to have their lives ended for the foolhardy act of lying about the woman who had become known as the Inferno Queen.
Catharine snorted derisively and picked up her own cup of tea, gesturing with it toward her guest. “And what about you? Do you think I should just ignore it, because these people lie? We should just tolerate their poor behaviour simply because they make a habit of it?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think we should,” her guest answered. Alice al Victoria was a reporter in Dar Es Salaam. She’d begun attached to one of the city’s major papers, but the Queen had taken a liking to her, and she’d been adopted into House Victoria. Now she was an editor for House Victoria’s paper, as well as spending many of her nights in Catharine’s suite in the Royal Towers. “I’m not sure what we can do, though. We can’t subject them to Victorian law, so long as they’re not here, right?”
“Wrong,” Catharine answered, her lip curled slightly in disdain, “we can enforce our law wherever we choose. Distance is no hindrance to us.”
Jordan grew clearly more anxious, hiding his face with another drink of tea before he spoke, “Majesty, I don’t think it would be wise to cleanse American citizens. We’re already in a precarious position with them. If we execute their people, it’s likely that we’ll have to fight them in the future.”
Catharine shook her head and let out a small snort of laughter. “We’re not going to cleanse the paper Jordan,” she said, “we’re going to buy it.”
“What,” he responded, his voice flat with surprise.
“Mhm,” Catharine nodded and grinned at him, then at Alice, “we’re going to buy the paper out from under those fuckers. And we’ll reform the whole thing. Make it into a proper paper, something Victoria could be proud of. And we’re going to do it quietly. So no one even knows.” She pushed a button on her desk, and a moment later a tall man entered and bowed to her.
“Majesty,” the newcomer said, “what do you wish of the Royal Intelligence Program?”
“Get word to one of my agents in the Socialist Republics. I want to arrange for the quiet purchase of an American paper. The Alabama Daily News. I don’t want it traced back to us, though. Work through our local contacts.”
“Yes, Majesty,” he said with a face so devoid of emotion and affect that he might as well not have been human. He bowed again and left, presumably to draw up the details and oversee the operation.
“What about that other one… The uh… The Tomb Colony?” Alice asked from where she sat, clearly pleased with how events had unfolded. “I think they’re called the Hong Kong Times-Colonist? The rag that China puts out.”
“Not worth it,” Catharine answered with a dismissive gesture, “they call it the Tomb Colony for a reason. Just a bunch of old white men posturing as they fall, one by one, into their graves. Let them die while we laugh and spread across the world.”
“I read it yesterday, yes,” Jordan al Victoria, her Chief of Staff, said calmly. “I get a copy of any article dealing with us, from any paper we have access to. Given our position in the world, there’s quite a few people that talk about us. It’s inevitable that some of them are lying.” He took a sip of tea, trying to appear more calm than he truly was. Things were always somewhat dangerous when his Queen became angry. In truth, he suspected that some Americans were about to have their lives ended for the foolhardy act of lying about the woman who had become known as the Inferno Queen.
Catharine snorted derisively and picked up her own cup of tea, gesturing with it toward her guest. “And what about you? Do you think I should just ignore it, because these people lie? We should just tolerate their poor behaviour simply because they make a habit of it?”
“Ah, no, I don’t think we should,” her guest answered. Alice al Victoria was a reporter in Dar Es Salaam. She’d begun attached to one of the city’s major papers, but the Queen had taken a liking to her, and she’d been adopted into House Victoria. Now she was an editor for House Victoria’s paper, as well as spending many of her nights in Catharine’s suite in the Royal Towers. “I’m not sure what we can do, though. We can’t subject them to Victorian law, so long as they’re not here, right?”
“Wrong,” Catharine answered, her lip curled slightly in disdain, “we can enforce our law wherever we choose. Distance is no hindrance to us.”
Jordan grew clearly more anxious, hiding his face with another drink of tea before he spoke, “Majesty, I don’t think it would be wise to cleanse American citizens. We’re already in a precarious position with them. If we execute their people, it’s likely that we’ll have to fight them in the future.”
Catharine shook her head and let out a small snort of laughter. “We’re not going to cleanse the paper Jordan,” she said, “we’re going to buy it.”
“What,” he responded, his voice flat with surprise.
“Mhm,” Catharine nodded and grinned at him, then at Alice, “we’re going to buy the paper out from under those fuckers. And we’ll reform the whole thing. Make it into a proper paper, something Victoria could be proud of. And we’re going to do it quietly. So no one even knows.” She pushed a button on her desk, and a moment later a tall man entered and bowed to her.
“Majesty,” the newcomer said, “what do you wish of the Royal Intelligence Program?”
“Get word to one of my agents in the Socialist Republics. I want to arrange for the quiet purchase of an American paper. The Alabama Daily News. I don’t want it traced back to us, though. Work through our local contacts.”
“Yes, Majesty,” he said with a face so devoid of emotion and affect that he might as well not have been human. He bowed again and left, presumably to draw up the details and oversee the operation.
“What about that other one… The uh… The Tomb Colony?” Alice asked from where she sat, clearly pleased with how events had unfolded. “I think they’re called the Hong Kong Times-Colonist? The rag that China puts out.”
“Not worth it,” Catharine answered with a dismissive gesture, “they call it the Tomb Colony for a reason. Just a bunch of old white men posturing as they fall, one by one, into their graves. Let them die while we laugh and spread across the world.”
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
“This is a fucking disaster,” Queen Catharine al Victoria said. Her lip curled slightly, and she stood with her fists planted firmly on her hips. Her wrathful gaze was directed at Victoria’s Minister of Internal affairs, Divock al Victoria. “We’ve been enforcing quarantines and no-fly zones all over the world, and here we are, German Flu right in our own heartland. There’s no way this fucking disease should have spread like this under our watch. Under your watch.”
Her personal physician, a sour sort of man, jotted down something on a clipboard and spoke, saving Divock from having to answer immediately, “Majesty, all my tests show that you’re healthy. No sign of the flu. Your blood pressure is a bit high, but I’m pretty sure I can chalk that up to stress. Normally I’d tell you to find ways to relax, and to watch your caffeine consumption, but well...” He gave a helpless shrug and started moving toward the door. “Just, at least, try to get at least six hours of sleep a night,” he pleaded, then left when Catharine gave him a nod.
The Queen turned her attention back toward her nervously fidgeting Minister. She held out a hand and her Chief of Staff promptly placed a cup of tea in it. She continued to stare at Divock while she took a long, slow, sip of her tea. “So,” she said after draining nearly half the cup, “we have a plague problem.”
Divock shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He hadn’t been offered tea, a sure sign of the Queen’s anger. “Well,” he said, “the Ugandans didn’t keep particularly good records. In fact, they falsified quite a few of them. The Provinces scanned as clean when we went in. But, you’re right. We should have been more careful. I can work with Field Marshal Odara to implement protocols for entering any new region. That should help us sweep for the flu.”
Catharine nodded and gestured to the Minister with her cup. Jordan poured another cup of tea and held it out to the man. The Queen strode to her favourite chair and settled in it while her Chief of Staff plied her Internal Minister with tea and gestured for both men to take seats. She waited for them to settle before speaking, “That will be the first step. We’ll need to have protocols for how to handle any resurgences of the plague here and in regions we already cleared. And we’ll need outside help. I’m going to have Grace write up a plan for a global organization dedicated to fighting the plague. If we can coordinate the efforts of the world’s major powers, then we can quarantine any region of the world and bring the Red Cross in safely.”
Jordan had poured himself a cup of tea and sipped it while his Queen spoke. He nodded along to her words, and only spoke when she finished, “I’ll make sure that Grace and Monika get us their plans by the end of the week.”
Internal Minister Divock had already gulped all his tea down gratefully and set his empty cup aside. “I’ll meet with Monika tonight over dinner. And, for the Provinces with confirmed infections, I suggest that we quarantine them and order in the Red Cross. As horrible as it is, we’ll be getting good practice at containing and fighting the plague. Practice that we can share with the rest of the world through your organization, Majesty.”
Catharine gave a short nod to both men. “Good, we have a plan. Let’s move it forward then. I want to eradicate this disease as quickly as possible. We can’t let it destroy us again. If it comes to it, we’ll burn infected areas clean. Understood?”
Both men understood, much to their unease.
Her personal physician, a sour sort of man, jotted down something on a clipboard and spoke, saving Divock from having to answer immediately, “Majesty, all my tests show that you’re healthy. No sign of the flu. Your blood pressure is a bit high, but I’m pretty sure I can chalk that up to stress. Normally I’d tell you to find ways to relax, and to watch your caffeine consumption, but well...” He gave a helpless shrug and started moving toward the door. “Just, at least, try to get at least six hours of sleep a night,” he pleaded, then left when Catharine gave him a nod.
The Queen turned her attention back toward her nervously fidgeting Minister. She held out a hand and her Chief of Staff promptly placed a cup of tea in it. She continued to stare at Divock while she took a long, slow, sip of her tea. “So,” she said after draining nearly half the cup, “we have a plague problem.”
Divock shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He hadn’t been offered tea, a sure sign of the Queen’s anger. “Well,” he said, “the Ugandans didn’t keep particularly good records. In fact, they falsified quite a few of them. The Provinces scanned as clean when we went in. But, you’re right. We should have been more careful. I can work with Field Marshal Odara to implement protocols for entering any new region. That should help us sweep for the flu.”
Catharine nodded and gestured to the Minister with her cup. Jordan poured another cup of tea and held it out to the man. The Queen strode to her favourite chair and settled in it while her Chief of Staff plied her Internal Minister with tea and gestured for both men to take seats. She waited for them to settle before speaking, “That will be the first step. We’ll need to have protocols for how to handle any resurgences of the plague here and in regions we already cleared. And we’ll need outside help. I’m going to have Grace write up a plan for a global organization dedicated to fighting the plague. If we can coordinate the efforts of the world’s major powers, then we can quarantine any region of the world and bring the Red Cross in safely.”
Jordan had poured himself a cup of tea and sipped it while his Queen spoke. He nodded along to her words, and only spoke when she finished, “I’ll make sure that Grace and Monika get us their plans by the end of the week.”
Internal Minister Divock had already gulped all his tea down gratefully and set his empty cup aside. “I’ll meet with Monika tonight over dinner. And, for the Provinces with confirmed infections, I suggest that we quarantine them and order in the Red Cross. As horrible as it is, we’ll be getting good practice at containing and fighting the plague. Practice that we can share with the rest of the world through your organization, Majesty.”
Catharine gave a short nod to both men. “Good, we have a plan. Let’s move it forward then. I want to eradicate this disease as quickly as possible. We can’t let it destroy us again. If it comes to it, we’ll burn infected areas clean. Understood?”
Both men understood, much to their unease.
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
The Victorian throne room, known to most as the Throne of Judgment, was a large chamber dominated by two thrones. At least, it had been. For most of its time only one throne, the eponymous Throne of Judgment, had been present, from which Queen Catharine al Victoria ruled. A second throne, the Throne of Mercy, had been added when King Atieno al Tabora had joined the royal family. A third throne, larger than the others, had been added to the room. It stood on a dais and rose above them all. The throne was carved with open eyes all across it, and wings that spread from it to command the attention of all within the room.
Victoria’s elite had been gathered into the throne room on the day that throne was unveiled. Catharine, dressed in a uniform of black silk and gold trim, her face painted with open and staring eyes, ascended the dais to settle on the new fixture. Her voice, amplified by hidden microphones, boomed across the room, “Behold, the Throne of Salvation. Our world suffers, its people crying out for safety, for security, for order. They cry out to be saved. We have the power to bring them Salvation.
“We shall quell our fires of Judgment, and bring them down only on those who have, through their actions, renounced their Salvation. We shall spread our Mercy to every corner of the world. Where our Seraphim brought fire, they will now bring hope. The world will look up and see the shadow of our greatness, and they will know that they are saved.”
The Royal Guard, the Ophanim, each slammed the butt of their rifle down on the throne room floor in unison as she finished speaking. King Atieno, sitting upon the Throne of Mercy beneath her in his black and silver, rose to await her at the bottom of the dais.
Catharine descended from her throne and reached out a hand to rest it on Atieno’s shoulder. “I’m glad you joined me,” she spoke softly, “you’ve helped me so much already. Knowing I don’t have to do this alone, it means the world to me.” She dropped her hand to take his, interlacing their fingers together. The two monarchs left the throne room through a back door, while speculating murmurs rippled through the crowd that had watched the Queen’s display.
Victoria’s elite had been gathered into the throne room on the day that throne was unveiled. Catharine, dressed in a uniform of black silk and gold trim, her face painted with open and staring eyes, ascended the dais to settle on the new fixture. Her voice, amplified by hidden microphones, boomed across the room, “Behold, the Throne of Salvation. Our world suffers, its people crying out for safety, for security, for order. They cry out to be saved. We have the power to bring them Salvation.
“We shall quell our fires of Judgment, and bring them down only on those who have, through their actions, renounced their Salvation. We shall spread our Mercy to every corner of the world. Where our Seraphim brought fire, they will now bring hope. The world will look up and see the shadow of our greatness, and they will know that they are saved.”
The Royal Guard, the Ophanim, each slammed the butt of their rifle down on the throne room floor in unison as she finished speaking. King Atieno, sitting upon the Throne of Mercy beneath her in his black and silver, rose to await her at the bottom of the dais.
Catharine descended from her throne and reached out a hand to rest it on Atieno’s shoulder. “I’m glad you joined me,” she spoke softly, “you’ve helped me so much already. Knowing I don’t have to do this alone, it means the world to me.” She dropped her hand to take his, interlacing their fingers together. The two monarchs left the throne room through a back door, while speculating murmurs rippled through the crowd that had watched the Queen’s display.
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
The Inferno Queen, Catharine Akinyi al Victoria, stood on a dais at the heart of the Victoria City memorial. The eternal flames of the memorial burned around her, casting her in a deep red glow. Her dress was clearly a variant of the Victorian military uniform, decorated with the motifs of the sun and stars. Her wings were spread wide, eyes clearly open at each joint and where each feather joined the frame. Her face was covered by a mask that was carved to show an expression of rapture and joy, but was also covered in far too many eyes. Six of her Royal Guard stood around her in a semi-circle, their uniforms coloured red and orange to mimic fire. Their masks mimicked wings covering their faces.
When the Queen spoke, her voice echoed out of speakers throughout the city, “Victoria aut Mors! Words for us to live and die by. And for a decade now we’ve done so. We’ve brought justice to the world. A world reeling from plague, from colonial empires, from all the sins that came before us. We’ve thrown down the old colonial empires, we’ve put an end to the plague, and we’ve brought new order to the nations of the world. But it isn’t enough!
“People still live and suffer and die in poverty. But we can change that! We’ve seen that Victoria can act across the globe, and that no nation can stop us. And none can stop us in our new mission: the salvation of all people. From this day forward, Victoria will place all of its resources to the task of ending hunger, ending disease, ending poverty. We will create a utopia of our world. We will do so beside our allies, knowing that our will inspires them to action as well.
“Today begins the next stage of our existence as a nation, as a people. We will show the world that soon they will have nothing to fear. That soon all the world, every person, can join us in saying our words. Victoria aut Mors! We will have victory, or we will all die as a species. There is no other choice.
“As such I have authorized Operation Unceasing Salvation. This act allows the Victorian government to take command of any economic asset, any resource, within our sphere of influence and to put it to the task of providing Salvation for all.
“Fear not! We have prepared for this! We have trained! We have tested ourselves and found ourselves ready!
“Victory or death! Salvation will be our life!”
The fires of the memorials were stoked to burn higher around her as she finished, and fireworks were launched into the sky. Her speech had been broadcast not just to Victoria, but across the world.
When the Queen spoke, her voice echoed out of speakers throughout the city, “Victoria aut Mors! Words for us to live and die by. And for a decade now we’ve done so. We’ve brought justice to the world. A world reeling from plague, from colonial empires, from all the sins that came before us. We’ve thrown down the old colonial empires, we’ve put an end to the plague, and we’ve brought new order to the nations of the world. But it isn’t enough!
“People still live and suffer and die in poverty. But we can change that! We’ve seen that Victoria can act across the globe, and that no nation can stop us. And none can stop us in our new mission: the salvation of all people. From this day forward, Victoria will place all of its resources to the task of ending hunger, ending disease, ending poverty. We will create a utopia of our world. We will do so beside our allies, knowing that our will inspires them to action as well.
“Today begins the next stage of our existence as a nation, as a people. We will show the world that soon they will have nothing to fear. That soon all the world, every person, can join us in saying our words. Victoria aut Mors! We will have victory, or we will all die as a species. There is no other choice.
“As such I have authorized Operation Unceasing Salvation. This act allows the Victorian government to take command of any economic asset, any resource, within our sphere of influence and to put it to the task of providing Salvation for all.
“Fear not! We have prepared for this! We have trained! We have tested ourselves and found ourselves ready!
“Victory or death! Salvation will be our life!”
The fires of the memorials were stoked to burn higher around her as she finished, and fireworks were launched into the sky. Her speech had been broadcast not just to Victoria, but across the world.
Re: Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
“Majesty, everything is ready.”
“Perfect. I’ve been waiting for this for… Too long.” Catharine tapped the button that raised the shielding on the observation ports of her aircraft. She gestured to the Royal Army’s engineer who spoke into a radio. There was a moment that passed, then a voice crackled through the engineer’s terminal.
“The test was successful, it’s safe to open the observation shielding.”
Cathy nodded absently as she pushed a second button and the shielding raised, clearing her view of the test field.
Her breath caught in her throat and a grin spread slowly over her face.
“It’s beautiful,” the Inferno Queen murmured.
“Perfect. I’ve been waiting for this for… Too long.” Catharine tapped the button that raised the shielding on the observation ports of her aircraft. She gestured to the Royal Army’s engineer who spoke into a radio. There was a moment that passed, then a voice crackled through the engineer’s terminal.
“The test was successful, it’s safe to open the observation shielding.”
Cathy nodded absently as she pushed a second button and the shielding raised, clearing her view of the test field.
Her breath caught in her throat and a grin spread slowly over her face.
“It’s beautiful,” the Inferno Queen murmured.