at long last! a fic post!
Okay, here we go! I was going to sit on this a while longer until I had a backlog of finished chapters to draw on, but pffft apparently my brain's just going to take that good intention and use it as another source for stress. Well screw you brain.
Anyway.
Title: Mirror Ocean, Book One: Revelation
Pairing: Ensemble
Rating: R overall, PG for this chapter
Summary: Fifty years ago, the world was shattered by war. Now, two nations have begun the tentative process of putting the pieces back together...But in a world where lies and bloodshed are a matter of course, is there anyone worthy of trust?
Warnings: Rating is for adult language and graphic violence.
Notes: A huge thank you to yamitami for her efforts as beta. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone.
September 1, 1939 - World War II begins.
May 8, 1945 - The Allied Powers achieve victory over the Axis of Evil in Europe.
July 16, 1945 - The world’s first nuclear test is conducted by the United States of America at the White Sands Proving Ground in New Mexico.
August 15, 1945 - The United States of America achieves victory over Japan.
September 2, 1945 - World War II ends.
August 29, 1945 - The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics conducts its first successful nuclear test at Semipalatinsk.
November 23, 1955 - World War III begins.
Chapter One
Boston, 2005
Olga Gurlukovich stood on the deck of her father’s tradeship, glaring at the brightly colored flag that waved cheerfully over the harbor. If there were any justice in the world, the flag would surely have combusted under the heat of her gaze. But there was no justice in the world: the flag continued its mindless wave, the sailors around her continued their rhythmless bustle, and there Olga stood, watching as the shoreline of a country she’d been raised to hate drifted ever closer.
Nothing she wore was hers, for the Gurlukovichs, both family and mercenaries, had made many enemies in their bid for power in the East. They’d carved out a neat little niche for themselves by the old Soviet Union’s footstool, even named it after the old mother country that her father still spoke of with a wistful eye, but at the expense of their neighbors, who hadn’t taken kindly at all to the perceived intrusion. Try as she might, Olga couldn’t recall a single day in her life when she hadn’t overheard talk of some border dispute or another. Sometimes conflict struck closer to home, and so she had learned how to fight as well as any of the soldiers under her father’s command. If this…visit was really as necessary as she’d been told, then it should be made like that: her flag waving, her men’s guns blazing, the capitalist dogs falling at her feet. None of this sneaking around bullshit, disguised as just another common mercenary. Even her dog tags bore the wrong name.
Not even the ship was really her father’s. Of course it belonged to a trading company funded, in part, by her father’s treasury, but that company also drew funding from at least another half a dozen sources. The ship’s captain was just another capitalist’s leech, as though the system itself was a quack doctor selling snake oil to the uninformed masses, and Olga detested him.
At the moment, she detested pretty much everything.
“Don’t scowl,” a gently chiding voice said behind her, as familiar as her father’s. The owner of the voice, a nondescript man in a balaclava and a uniform whose only concession to national identity was a small patch on the shoulder, moved to join her, resting his arms on the safety railing surrounding the deck. “Your face will stick that way.”
Olga scowled all the harder. “Don’t coddle me, Shalashaska,” she snapped. “I’m not a child anymore.” She wasn’t even twenty. The soldier knew it, and said nothing about it.
“No,” he agreed instead. “A child wouldn’t be trusted with this much responsibility.”
Even though this was just another repetition of a conversation they’d first had nearly six months ago, the combination of certain words, such as “trust” and “responsibility” still had power over Olga’s emotions. The worst part of it was, her companion was absolutely right. It was a great and wonderful responsibility she’d been given, the sort of thing she’d been begging to receive for years. Just imagine! Not only establishing a non-aggression pact (for phrases such as ‘peace treaty’ had lost all meaning years before she was even born) with one of her beloved country’s traditional enemies, but to help bring a new trade agreement, one that could not help but benefit her nation, into being! If only she had been sent to any country other than this one! Even being sent into the desert to deal with women-hating fanatics would have been better than this.
For one thing, it wouldn’t have taken nearly as long to get there.
Shalashaska’s eyes were as grey as the sky overhead, and nearly closed as the lips behind his balaclava curled in a smile. “You’ll feel better once we’ve landed.” He’d always been by Olga’s side; as far back as she could remember.
***
He was still by Olga’s side two hours later, but so was the rest of her squad: nearly a dozen soldiers, all identically-clad, and beyond them the rest of her company, “graciously” allowed onto American soil as a gesture of good faith, as well as the diplomatic team she had brought with her. Olga had lost track of him at some point while the company got into formation, but this was no time to wander around checking name tags. She would simply have to trust that Shalashaska was with her, as always.
There was an American officer, a black man flanked by a squad of his own, waiting for her at the bottom of the gangplank. He saluted her - she returning the gesture more out of habit than anything else - and introduced himself as General Scott Dolph. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan, Olga reflected, as she and her squad were led to small bevy of trucks parked nearby, but it surprised her to see how little the presence of entire company of foreign soldiers disturbed the American sailors and civilians working all around them.
“They’ve probably just assumed you’re a new batch of mercenaries from overseas,” General Dolph explained once she’d asked, with a warm if somewhat brusque manner. Olga wondered what he thought of the situation, and if he was as uncomfortable with it as she was. Perhaps, but if so he was a lot better at hiding it. “In many ways, our two countries are much the same, Miss Gurlukovich.” Olga frowned at the back of his head, but said nothing. “Like you, there are many rogue elements who challenge our government’s legitimacy, both within and without our borders. The self-styled “Havenites” have proven especially persistent, but fortunately we have over time discovered that by stationing carefully-selected mercenary companies on our borders, we both increase the efficiency of our own forces in those quarters, while at the same diverting more funds to maintain stability on the home front…”
He wasn’t saying anything new. Olga tuned him out, climbing into an armored car parked in the middle of the trucks, and ignoring the squad mate who unobtrusively handed his rifle off to a comrade and followed her. Olga choked back a smug grin at General Dolph’s brief look of consternation and straightened her face, pretending a very diplomatic interest in the view outside through the tiny window.
Here in the capital of New America, the military presence was strong. Theirs wasn’t the only military convoy; indeed, as she watched Olga realized that Dolph hadn’t been exaggerating. She was indeed able to spot insignias other than the American eagle; the foreigners always seemed to be in a great hurry, no doubt caught in the middle of shipping out.
“Where are they going…?” she asked, since Dolph seemed willing to tell her everything anyway. Dolph was seated directly in front of her, next to the driver’s seat; he looked over his shoulder for a moment, trying to follow her gaze, then said, “South, most likely. Those Texan fanatics have been causing trouble for months.”
Olga snorted softly, and settled back into the thinly-padded seat. Texas, she thought to herself. The southernmost of the three military nations that had once been the so-called United States. According to the information she’d been given, there were no Texan civilians; every citizen was trained to fight in the name of their god. More importantly, both the Free Republic of Texas and the New United States of America refused to recognize each other’s sovereignty. She, meanwhile, was unimpressed. It didn’t matter that Boston was both the capital and a major port; allowing this many military personnel into the city proper smacked of carelessness. Or perhaps President Sears was so worried about civil unrest that he felt a constant show of force was in order? Either way, she failed to see what her father saw in pursuing an alliance with these people.
The rest of the trip was unremarkable. Dolph seemed determined to keep up a steady stream of words, pointing out various buildings and reproductions of old monuments without seeming to stop for breath. Olga listened to with half an ear, just in case he bucked her first impression and said something important, but she must not have been paying as close attention as she thought, for it was with a sort of surprised relief that she realized the colossal building Dolph was now extolling the history of was in fact their destination.
It was an ugly thing, despite the obvious attempts that had been made to soften and beautify it. The entire building had been painted white, for who knew what reason, and the front edifice was set back from the street by a large green park, apparently open to the public if the small groups of people with children were any indication. The fortress itself was festooned with brightly colored banners, and there were red, white, and blue flags everywhere. But there were also armed guards by the front gate, and watch towers broke up the green idyll of the lawn. Looking up at one at they drove past, Olga could just see the snout of an automatic machine gun, and as she studied the layout of the place, she could see the towers divided the entire area into neat firing lanes. As for the fortress itself, no amount of banners or paint could disguise its true nature. For one thing, it had no windows at all, only a collection of slits that again, were perfectly placed for armed defense. For the first time, Olga felt a chill of apprehension as she thought of her mission. She had brought only one hundred and fifty men with her, and thought it overkill. But now, looking at this place where she was expected to spend the next year, she wasn’t so sure. What if Sears’ intentions turned out to be dishonorable after all…?
As if sensing the turn of her thoughts, the soldier sitting next to her put a hand on her shoulder. Olga quickly shrugged it off, all too aware of Dolph’s curious gaze on them both, and ashamed of her own cowardice. Stupidity too, when she knew perfectly well that her father and Shalashaska would never have allowed her to come to America at all if they even suspected a hint of treachery in Sears. She’d spent years protesting her father’s overprotective nature, and now that he’d actually given her something important to do, she got cold feet? Ridiculous!
Following a long, concrete driveway, the convoy circled the fortress, coming to a stop on the far side next to what appeared to be a loading dock. There were no workers in evidence, however, just more guards, and loitering by the main entrance to the dock were three men in suits. Dolph climbed out of the car, holding the door open for Olga, and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed him. Her company was also disembarking, but even with all the trucks that had brought them here, the dock was still built on a scale that left them plenty of room to fall into formation behind her. Though her people outnumbered the guards present - in person, anyway, who knew what kind of surveillance Sears had - Olga still felt surrounded as the American soldiers also fell into formation, saluting as the tallest of the three men in suits approached. This, then, must be President Sears.
He looked more or less as Olga had expected; she had seen photos of him, after all. His hair had gone prematurely grey, and his face was worn, but it seemed to give him an air of wisdom rather than fragility. He was powerfully built, with wide shoulders, and his voice was steady. “Olga Gurlukovich, I presume?” he said with a paternal smile, and shook her hand. Unlike many powerful men Olga had met, he didn’t try to crush her hand, nor did he hold it like something made out of glass. Before she could respond, he continued, looking around the loading dock and the soldiers with a rueful grin, “I feel like I should be apologizing for meeting you this way. I usually make a point of treating diplomats with the utmost formality, but your father’s instructions were most specific.”
“I know,” Olga hastened to reassure him, somewhat taken aback by his apparent sincerity and somewhat unsure what his true intentions were. In her world, pompous and showy displays could only mean a sign of strength, that the one staging it all had resources to waste on useless things. Did Sears mean he missed the chance to intimidate her? But surely he wouldn’t say such a thing to her face! In her confusion, Olga simply said the first thing that came to mind. “But with as many enemies as we have back home, there’s no such thing as being too careful.” Aghast as she realized what she’d just said, she quickly added, “I really do appreciate your willingness to humor us, Mr. President.”
“As does your father, I’m sure,” Sears said, with every appearance of good humor. As though just remembering the other men’s presence, he turned back to the door, releasing Olga’s hand in the process. “This, ah, is my foster son, Jack, by the way.” The young man - for now that Olga got a good look at him, she could see that he was even younger than her - had been lingering by the door, but he now came forward.
It was just as well Sears hadn’t tried to claim any blood relation with him, as it would have been an obvious lie. The only point of resemblance between the two men was Jack’s extremely pale, nearly white hair, but aside from that they could not have been less alike. His eyes were a light blue to Sears’ brown, and his face was thin - in fact, he looked like he’d been starved as a child. He seemed nervous, his eyes continually flicking back and forth and seemingly never settling on anything, and when Olga offered him her hand he stared at it for a few seconds before hesitantly taking it, as though he’d never given anyone a handshake before and wasn’t sure he was doing it right. His hands appeared extremely delicate; the rough calluses that covered his fingers and palm came as a complete surprise. He mumbled a brief, “pleased to meet you…” and dropped Olga’s hand, quickly stepping back with a sidelong glance Sears’ way. Olga wondered if he was simple-minded.
Sears didn’t seem to notice anything strange about his son’s behavior; or if he did, he was quite adept at hiding it. Sweeping Jack aside, he next beckoned the third man over. “I’m sure you already know Ambassador Golubev.”
“Indeed,” the ambassador said, taking Olga’s hand between both of his. “Though I’m not sure you remember me. You were so much younger when I left the Union.”
“Of course I remember you,” Olga said, not mentioning how much he’d changed since the last time she’d seen him, all those years ago. She remembered a real soldier, one of her father’s most trusted lieutenants - but looking at the man who called himself Golubev now, she thought he looked like just another fat, stupid American. In fact he looked more like an American than Sears did.
The President offered Olga his arm, as though the two of them were attending some old-fashioned ball, and gestured towards the door, which some enterprising soldier had already opened for them. “I hope you will humor me later by joining me for dinner,” he said, as Olga took his arm, since there seemed to be no reason not to. She glanced behind herself, wondering what was keeping Shalashaska; misinterpreting the look, Sears added, “Your guards, of course, may go wherever you do, and the rest of your men will be well taken care of.”
“Of course,” Olga said, and with a gesture she dismissed the company. Dolph was already barking out orders to his men, no doubt with regards to her company’s assigned billet, but Olga tuned him out. Whatever Shalashaska was up to now, Olga knew she could rely on him to make sure everything was satisfactory, and anyway Sears was speaking again. With her honor guard and diplomats, and his strange son close on their heels, he led her into the fortress.
Neither of them noticed the man, a civilian by his clothes, standing some distance away. He was dressed in a plain, brown trench coat, only a slightly darker shade than his messy hair, and he was leaning back against the wall, left shoulder only a few inches away from the corner of the building. His attention seemed entirely taken by the task of lighting the cigarette he held between his lips; he didn’t even notice the armed guard approaching until the guard called out.
“Hey!” the guard said roughly, brandishing his rifle though - not quite - taking the trouble to actually aim it at anything. “You’re not supposed to be back here!”
The civilian visibly started, looking back at the guard with a blandly baffled expression. “Sorry,” he said, taking the still unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “I was just trying to get out of the wind.”
It was a rather blustery day, even by local standards. The guard felt somewhat sympathetic, but not enough to risk his own skin. “Well, find somewhere else,” he said gruffly. “This is a restricted area.”
“Sorry,” the civilian said again, already backing away. He turned and quickly shoved off, cutting straight across the park on his way to the main gate. The guard watched long enough to make sure he really was going - not that he was really that concerned - then returned to minding his own business.
Meanwhile, inside the fortress, Sears was asking about Olga’s journey. “It must have been very difficult,” he said, “particularly the beginning. I understand you traveled overland from the Union to the Mediterranean; that’s heavily-contested territory, from what I’m told.”
“It is,” Olga agreed. “But now that it’s all over, I think the sea journey was the worst part. At least on dry land we never got bored.”
Sears threw back his head and laughed. “I can sympathize!” he said with a grin. He waved his hand around, indicated the hallway they were currently in and by extension, the entire fortress. “Many’s the time I wondered I wouldn’t go completely round the bend, cooped up in here - I wasn’t always a stuffy old government official, you see.”
Olga nodded. “You were a mercenary before taking office, were you not?” Behind her, Golubev made a small choking sound, as though he’d swallowed something he disliked. Olga ignored him, and Sears actually laughed.
“That’s one way to put it,” he admitted, “though not a very flattering way. Still,” he continued, slipping into a pensive mood. “There’s something about those days that I miss. Call it the rush, the excitement…you never feel more alive than on the battlefield, isn’t that right, Jack?” he asked over his shoulder, looking back at his foster son.
“…right,” the boy said. He met Olga’s eyes for a moment, and then looked away.
“I met him on the battlefield,” Sears told Olga, adopting a confidential tone. “He was a child soldier in Liberia; I wasn’t able to save the rest of his unit, but I brought Jack back with me when I returned to America.” He sighed heavily, broad shoulders sagging. “So there’s one thing about war I certainly don’t miss…”
That explained the boy’s strangeness, and Olga found herself moved with pity. She’d heard the stories, of children spared from massacres or kidnapped en masse, all so they could be trained as cannon fodder for one army or another. She too had learned to fight at a young age, but there was a world of difference between her life and theirs. She had grown up surrounded by loyal protectors, and with a father who loved her, but those poor slaves to the battlefield had nothing. Despite herself, she found her respect for this American president going up another notch.
“But that was a long time ago,” a cool voice said behind them, and Olga smiled, turning back with the rest of the group to look at the masked member of her honor guard who had spoken. “Now, Mr. President, you are far more powerful than any mercenary general could possibly be, but infinitely more vulnerable as well. After all, if you were to be lost, this entire nation would be plunged into chaos, would it not?”
Golubev coughed thickly, his face reddening. “Really now, this is most inappropriate…” Jack made as if to step between Sears and this seemingly anonymous soldier, but Sears waved him back. He didn’t look threatened at all, only interested.
“That’s certainly true,” he said. “’Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’ indeed…I can count on both hands the number of times I’ve left this fortress since taking office, let alone left the city. I must rely on trusted proxies to carry out my will.” He raised an eyebrow. “Much like General Gurlukovich, I imagine.” Releasing Olga’s arm, he offered the soldier his hand. “And to whom am I speaking, Mr. ...?”
The soldier laughed, delighted. “Oh, I do beg you pardon, Mr. President,” he said. “It’s amazing how some things slip one’s mind, once you’ve grown used to them.” He tugged off the balaclava, tucking it into his belt and combing his long, silver hair with his fingers before reaching out to shake Sears’ hand. “I am Shalashaska; think of me as the general’s…proxy.” Golubev squeaked slightly in surprise, but by then nobody was paying any attention to him at all.
Anyway.
Title: Mirror Ocean, Book One: Revelation
Pairing: Ensemble
Rating: R overall, PG for this chapter
Summary: Fifty years ago, the world was shattered by war. Now, two nations have begun the tentative process of putting the pieces back together...But in a world where lies and bloodshed are a matter of course, is there anyone worthy of trust?
Warnings: Rating is for adult language and graphic violence.
Notes: A huge thank you to yamitami for her efforts as beta. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone.
September 1, 1939 - World War II begins.
May 8, 1945 - The Allied Powers achieve victory over the Axis of Evil in Europe.
July 16, 1945 - The world’s first nuclear test is conducted by the United States of America at the White Sands Proving Ground in New Mexico.
August 15, 1945 - The United States of America achieves victory over Japan.
September 2, 1945 - World War II ends.
August 29, 1945 - The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics conducts its first successful nuclear test at Semipalatinsk.
November 23, 1955 - World War III begins.
Chapter One
Boston, 2005
Olga Gurlukovich stood on the deck of her father’s tradeship, glaring at the brightly colored flag that waved cheerfully over the harbor. If there were any justice in the world, the flag would surely have combusted under the heat of her gaze. But there was no justice in the world: the flag continued its mindless wave, the sailors around her continued their rhythmless bustle, and there Olga stood, watching as the shoreline of a country she’d been raised to hate drifted ever closer.
Nothing she wore was hers, for the Gurlukovichs, both family and mercenaries, had made many enemies in their bid for power in the East. They’d carved out a neat little niche for themselves by the old Soviet Union’s footstool, even named it after the old mother country that her father still spoke of with a wistful eye, but at the expense of their neighbors, who hadn’t taken kindly at all to the perceived intrusion. Try as she might, Olga couldn’t recall a single day in her life when she hadn’t overheard talk of some border dispute or another. Sometimes conflict struck closer to home, and so she had learned how to fight as well as any of the soldiers under her father’s command. If this…visit was really as necessary as she’d been told, then it should be made like that: her flag waving, her men’s guns blazing, the capitalist dogs falling at her feet. None of this sneaking around bullshit, disguised as just another common mercenary. Even her dog tags bore the wrong name.
Not even the ship was really her father’s. Of course it belonged to a trading company funded, in part, by her father’s treasury, but that company also drew funding from at least another half a dozen sources. The ship’s captain was just another capitalist’s leech, as though the system itself was a quack doctor selling snake oil to the uninformed masses, and Olga detested him.
At the moment, she detested pretty much everything.
“Don’t scowl,” a gently chiding voice said behind her, as familiar as her father’s. The owner of the voice, a nondescript man in a balaclava and a uniform whose only concession to national identity was a small patch on the shoulder, moved to join her, resting his arms on the safety railing surrounding the deck. “Your face will stick that way.”
Olga scowled all the harder. “Don’t coddle me, Shalashaska,” she snapped. “I’m not a child anymore.” She wasn’t even twenty. The soldier knew it, and said nothing about it.
“No,” he agreed instead. “A child wouldn’t be trusted with this much responsibility.”
Even though this was just another repetition of a conversation they’d first had nearly six months ago, the combination of certain words, such as “trust” and “responsibility” still had power over Olga’s emotions. The worst part of it was, her companion was absolutely right. It was a great and wonderful responsibility she’d been given, the sort of thing she’d been begging to receive for years. Just imagine! Not only establishing a non-aggression pact (for phrases such as ‘peace treaty’ had lost all meaning years before she was even born) with one of her beloved country’s traditional enemies, but to help bring a new trade agreement, one that could not help but benefit her nation, into being! If only she had been sent to any country other than this one! Even being sent into the desert to deal with women-hating fanatics would have been better than this.
For one thing, it wouldn’t have taken nearly as long to get there.
Shalashaska’s eyes were as grey as the sky overhead, and nearly closed as the lips behind his balaclava curled in a smile. “You’ll feel better once we’ve landed.” He’d always been by Olga’s side; as far back as she could remember.
***
He was still by Olga’s side two hours later, but so was the rest of her squad: nearly a dozen soldiers, all identically-clad, and beyond them the rest of her company, “graciously” allowed onto American soil as a gesture of good faith, as well as the diplomatic team she had brought with her. Olga had lost track of him at some point while the company got into formation, but this was no time to wander around checking name tags. She would simply have to trust that Shalashaska was with her, as always.
There was an American officer, a black man flanked by a squad of his own, waiting for her at the bottom of the gangplank. He saluted her - she returning the gesture more out of habit than anything else - and introduced himself as General Scott Dolph. Everything seemed to be going to according to plan, Olga reflected, as she and her squad were led to small bevy of trucks parked nearby, but it surprised her to see how little the presence of entire company of foreign soldiers disturbed the American sailors and civilians working all around them.
“They’ve probably just assumed you’re a new batch of mercenaries from overseas,” General Dolph explained once she’d asked, with a warm if somewhat brusque manner. Olga wondered what he thought of the situation, and if he was as uncomfortable with it as she was. Perhaps, but if so he was a lot better at hiding it. “In many ways, our two countries are much the same, Miss Gurlukovich.” Olga frowned at the back of his head, but said nothing. “Like you, there are many rogue elements who challenge our government’s legitimacy, both within and without our borders. The self-styled “Havenites” have proven especially persistent, but fortunately we have over time discovered that by stationing carefully-selected mercenary companies on our borders, we both increase the efficiency of our own forces in those quarters, while at the same diverting more funds to maintain stability on the home front…”
He wasn’t saying anything new. Olga tuned him out, climbing into an armored car parked in the middle of the trucks, and ignoring the squad mate who unobtrusively handed his rifle off to a comrade and followed her. Olga choked back a smug grin at General Dolph’s brief look of consternation and straightened her face, pretending a very diplomatic interest in the view outside through the tiny window.
Here in the capital of New America, the military presence was strong. Theirs wasn’t the only military convoy; indeed, as she watched Olga realized that Dolph hadn’t been exaggerating. She was indeed able to spot insignias other than the American eagle; the foreigners always seemed to be in a great hurry, no doubt caught in the middle of shipping out.
“Where are they going…?” she asked, since Dolph seemed willing to tell her everything anyway. Dolph was seated directly in front of her, next to the driver’s seat; he looked over his shoulder for a moment, trying to follow her gaze, then said, “South, most likely. Those Texan fanatics have been causing trouble for months.”
Olga snorted softly, and settled back into the thinly-padded seat. Texas, she thought to herself. The southernmost of the three military nations that had once been the so-called United States. According to the information she’d been given, there were no Texan civilians; every citizen was trained to fight in the name of their god. More importantly, both the Free Republic of Texas and the New United States of America refused to recognize each other’s sovereignty. She, meanwhile, was unimpressed. It didn’t matter that Boston was both the capital and a major port; allowing this many military personnel into the city proper smacked of carelessness. Or perhaps President Sears was so worried about civil unrest that he felt a constant show of force was in order? Either way, she failed to see what her father saw in pursuing an alliance with these people.
The rest of the trip was unremarkable. Dolph seemed determined to keep up a steady stream of words, pointing out various buildings and reproductions of old monuments without seeming to stop for breath. Olga listened to with half an ear, just in case he bucked her first impression and said something important, but she must not have been paying as close attention as she thought, for it was with a sort of surprised relief that she realized the colossal building Dolph was now extolling the history of was in fact their destination.
It was an ugly thing, despite the obvious attempts that had been made to soften and beautify it. The entire building had been painted white, for who knew what reason, and the front edifice was set back from the street by a large green park, apparently open to the public if the small groups of people with children were any indication. The fortress itself was festooned with brightly colored banners, and there were red, white, and blue flags everywhere. But there were also armed guards by the front gate, and watch towers broke up the green idyll of the lawn. Looking up at one at they drove past, Olga could just see the snout of an automatic machine gun, and as she studied the layout of the place, she could see the towers divided the entire area into neat firing lanes. As for the fortress itself, no amount of banners or paint could disguise its true nature. For one thing, it had no windows at all, only a collection of slits that again, were perfectly placed for armed defense. For the first time, Olga felt a chill of apprehension as she thought of her mission. She had brought only one hundred and fifty men with her, and thought it overkill. But now, looking at this place where she was expected to spend the next year, she wasn’t so sure. What if Sears’ intentions turned out to be dishonorable after all…?
As if sensing the turn of her thoughts, the soldier sitting next to her put a hand on her shoulder. Olga quickly shrugged it off, all too aware of Dolph’s curious gaze on them both, and ashamed of her own cowardice. Stupidity too, when she knew perfectly well that her father and Shalashaska would never have allowed her to come to America at all if they even suspected a hint of treachery in Sears. She’d spent years protesting her father’s overprotective nature, and now that he’d actually given her something important to do, she got cold feet? Ridiculous!
Following a long, concrete driveway, the convoy circled the fortress, coming to a stop on the far side next to what appeared to be a loading dock. There were no workers in evidence, however, just more guards, and loitering by the main entrance to the dock were three men in suits. Dolph climbed out of the car, holding the door open for Olga, and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed him. Her company was also disembarking, but even with all the trucks that had brought them here, the dock was still built on a scale that left them plenty of room to fall into formation behind her. Though her people outnumbered the guards present - in person, anyway, who knew what kind of surveillance Sears had - Olga still felt surrounded as the American soldiers also fell into formation, saluting as the tallest of the three men in suits approached. This, then, must be President Sears.
He looked more or less as Olga had expected; she had seen photos of him, after all. His hair had gone prematurely grey, and his face was worn, but it seemed to give him an air of wisdom rather than fragility. He was powerfully built, with wide shoulders, and his voice was steady. “Olga Gurlukovich, I presume?” he said with a paternal smile, and shook her hand. Unlike many powerful men Olga had met, he didn’t try to crush her hand, nor did he hold it like something made out of glass. Before she could respond, he continued, looking around the loading dock and the soldiers with a rueful grin, “I feel like I should be apologizing for meeting you this way. I usually make a point of treating diplomats with the utmost formality, but your father’s instructions were most specific.”
“I know,” Olga hastened to reassure him, somewhat taken aback by his apparent sincerity and somewhat unsure what his true intentions were. In her world, pompous and showy displays could only mean a sign of strength, that the one staging it all had resources to waste on useless things. Did Sears mean he missed the chance to intimidate her? But surely he wouldn’t say such a thing to her face! In her confusion, Olga simply said the first thing that came to mind. “But with as many enemies as we have back home, there’s no such thing as being too careful.” Aghast as she realized what she’d just said, she quickly added, “I really do appreciate your willingness to humor us, Mr. President.”
“As does your father, I’m sure,” Sears said, with every appearance of good humor. As though just remembering the other men’s presence, he turned back to the door, releasing Olga’s hand in the process. “This, ah, is my foster son, Jack, by the way.” The young man - for now that Olga got a good look at him, she could see that he was even younger than her - had been lingering by the door, but he now came forward.
It was just as well Sears hadn’t tried to claim any blood relation with him, as it would have been an obvious lie. The only point of resemblance between the two men was Jack’s extremely pale, nearly white hair, but aside from that they could not have been less alike. His eyes were a light blue to Sears’ brown, and his face was thin - in fact, he looked like he’d been starved as a child. He seemed nervous, his eyes continually flicking back and forth and seemingly never settling on anything, and when Olga offered him her hand he stared at it for a few seconds before hesitantly taking it, as though he’d never given anyone a handshake before and wasn’t sure he was doing it right. His hands appeared extremely delicate; the rough calluses that covered his fingers and palm came as a complete surprise. He mumbled a brief, “pleased to meet you…” and dropped Olga’s hand, quickly stepping back with a sidelong glance Sears’ way. Olga wondered if he was simple-minded.
Sears didn’t seem to notice anything strange about his son’s behavior; or if he did, he was quite adept at hiding it. Sweeping Jack aside, he next beckoned the third man over. “I’m sure you already know Ambassador Golubev.”
“Indeed,” the ambassador said, taking Olga’s hand between both of his. “Though I’m not sure you remember me. You were so much younger when I left the Union.”
“Of course I remember you,” Olga said, not mentioning how much he’d changed since the last time she’d seen him, all those years ago. She remembered a real soldier, one of her father’s most trusted lieutenants - but looking at the man who called himself Golubev now, she thought he looked like just another fat, stupid American. In fact he looked more like an American than Sears did.
The President offered Olga his arm, as though the two of them were attending some old-fashioned ball, and gestured towards the door, which some enterprising soldier had already opened for them. “I hope you will humor me later by joining me for dinner,” he said, as Olga took his arm, since there seemed to be no reason not to. She glanced behind herself, wondering what was keeping Shalashaska; misinterpreting the look, Sears added, “Your guards, of course, may go wherever you do, and the rest of your men will be well taken care of.”
“Of course,” Olga said, and with a gesture she dismissed the company. Dolph was already barking out orders to his men, no doubt with regards to her company’s assigned billet, but Olga tuned him out. Whatever Shalashaska was up to now, Olga knew she could rely on him to make sure everything was satisfactory, and anyway Sears was speaking again. With her honor guard and diplomats, and his strange son close on their heels, he led her into the fortress.
Neither of them noticed the man, a civilian by his clothes, standing some distance away. He was dressed in a plain, brown trench coat, only a slightly darker shade than his messy hair, and he was leaning back against the wall, left shoulder only a few inches away from the corner of the building. His attention seemed entirely taken by the task of lighting the cigarette he held between his lips; he didn’t even notice the armed guard approaching until the guard called out.
“Hey!” the guard said roughly, brandishing his rifle though - not quite - taking the trouble to actually aim it at anything. “You’re not supposed to be back here!”
The civilian visibly started, looking back at the guard with a blandly baffled expression. “Sorry,” he said, taking the still unlit cigarette out of his mouth. “I was just trying to get out of the wind.”
It was a rather blustery day, even by local standards. The guard felt somewhat sympathetic, but not enough to risk his own skin. “Well, find somewhere else,” he said gruffly. “This is a restricted area.”
“Sorry,” the civilian said again, already backing away. He turned and quickly shoved off, cutting straight across the park on his way to the main gate. The guard watched long enough to make sure he really was going - not that he was really that concerned - then returned to minding his own business.
Meanwhile, inside the fortress, Sears was asking about Olga’s journey. “It must have been very difficult,” he said, “particularly the beginning. I understand you traveled overland from the Union to the Mediterranean; that’s heavily-contested territory, from what I’m told.”
“It is,” Olga agreed. “But now that it’s all over, I think the sea journey was the worst part. At least on dry land we never got bored.”
Sears threw back his head and laughed. “I can sympathize!” he said with a grin. He waved his hand around, indicated the hallway they were currently in and by extension, the entire fortress. “Many’s the time I wondered I wouldn’t go completely round the bend, cooped up in here - I wasn’t always a stuffy old government official, you see.”
Olga nodded. “You were a mercenary before taking office, were you not?” Behind her, Golubev made a small choking sound, as though he’d swallowed something he disliked. Olga ignored him, and Sears actually laughed.
“That’s one way to put it,” he admitted, “though not a very flattering way. Still,” he continued, slipping into a pensive mood. “There’s something about those days that I miss. Call it the rush, the excitement…you never feel more alive than on the battlefield, isn’t that right, Jack?” he asked over his shoulder, looking back at his foster son.
“…right,” the boy said. He met Olga’s eyes for a moment, and then looked away.
“I met him on the battlefield,” Sears told Olga, adopting a confidential tone. “He was a child soldier in Liberia; I wasn’t able to save the rest of his unit, but I brought Jack back with me when I returned to America.” He sighed heavily, broad shoulders sagging. “So there’s one thing about war I certainly don’t miss…”
That explained the boy’s strangeness, and Olga found herself moved with pity. She’d heard the stories, of children spared from massacres or kidnapped en masse, all so they could be trained as cannon fodder for one army or another. She too had learned to fight at a young age, but there was a world of difference between her life and theirs. She had grown up surrounded by loyal protectors, and with a father who loved her, but those poor slaves to the battlefield had nothing. Despite herself, she found her respect for this American president going up another notch.
“But that was a long time ago,” a cool voice said behind them, and Olga smiled, turning back with the rest of the group to look at the masked member of her honor guard who had spoken. “Now, Mr. President, you are far more powerful than any mercenary general could possibly be, but infinitely more vulnerable as well. After all, if you were to be lost, this entire nation would be plunged into chaos, would it not?”
Golubev coughed thickly, his face reddening. “Really now, this is most inappropriate…” Jack made as if to step between Sears and this seemingly anonymous soldier, but Sears waved him back. He didn’t look threatened at all, only interested.
“That’s certainly true,” he said. “’Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’ indeed…I can count on both hands the number of times I’ve left this fortress since taking office, let alone left the city. I must rely on trusted proxies to carry out my will.” He raised an eyebrow. “Much like General Gurlukovich, I imagine.” Releasing Olga’s arm, he offered the soldier his hand. “And to whom am I speaking, Mr. ...?”
The soldier laughed, delighted. “Oh, I do beg you pardon, Mr. President,” he said. “It’s amazing how some things slip one’s mind, once you’ve grown used to them.” He tugged off the balaclava, tucking it into his belt and combing his long, silver hair with his fingers before reaching out to shake Sears’ hand. “I am Shalashaska; think of me as the general’s…proxy.” Golubev squeaked slightly in surprise, but by then nobody was paying any attention to him at all.