Repositioning, Part 4
Downtown Isfahan
Mozaffar had started to enjoy the celebratory banquet, as much as he hated the reason why it was a thing, when it abruptly ended and the cabinet was called into an emergency briefing. He wasn’t even finished with his dinner when he was whisked into a car and driven to Ali Qapu, where they convened in the war room. He didn’t understand why they were here now, as there was no military operation currently in progress. In fact, the entire Mesopotamian front had disintegrated due to entire armies outright deserting and leaving holes in the front lines. Had Jerusalem not been suffering its
own internal troubles, it could have easily pushed the Artesh back to the border, and then some.
I still don’t get why they decided to nuke themselves. Maybe that’s the point.
He supposed it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Gentlemen, please explain why we’re still meeting in the war room.”
“Mozaffar, there is a pressing matter of national security which requires us to deploy the Artesh.” Interim Chancellor Parviz Zakaria put his elbows on the table and his interlocked hands up to his chin, his composure stoic and deadpan like a statue of the shahs of old. Abbas Jaberi had to announce his resignation and retirement several hours ago, ahead of his planned announcement. Mozaffar’s plan was to help Uncle Abbas announce his retirement, combined with an endorsement of his political campaign, on the 27th, but Parviz gave them little time to react by getting the votes needed to oust Jaberi much faster than Mozaffar had expected. He would only be chancellor until July 1, when Mozaffar would no doubt win the examinations, but it seemed he wanted to flaunt his power while he still had it. “The situation in Isfahan is deteriorating. Riots have sprung up in multiple districts.”
“Riots?”
“Yes, if you’ll look at this map here…” The Minister of Intelligence laid out a map of the city on the table, with certain neighborhoods having been circled. “The Zayandeh River Patrol has gone on strike, claiming human trafficking will surge in the coming weeks.” He next pointed to Isfahan Tech. “Meanwhile the Isfahan Teachers’ Association, along with various university student organizations, simultaneously went on strike. Students have barricaded the entrances to the campus and dorms.” After that, he pointed at downtown. “Numerous malls and popular restaurants have suddenly announced they would be closing indefinitely.”
“Have you contacted the Chamber of Commerce and the Restaurant Owners Association?” Mozaffar asked.
“They refused to take my calls, only saying this was in solidarity with the strikes elsewhere.”
“Damn strikers,” Parviz said, “Let’s see how well they take it when we fire the lot of them and replace them with patriots who actually want to work.”
“That’s only going to make the situation worse,” Mozaffar said, “Especially with the river patrol. Where are we going to find replacements for them in a timely manner?”
“There will always be people ready to take their place,” Parviz said, “Such is the way of the free market.”
But how long will we need to properly train them?
“Spontaneous rioting has also broken out in downtown and other major districts,” the Minister of Intelligence continued, “They haven’t gotten close to Ali Qapu or any government buildings, but some businesses have been torched.”
“Roman ones?” Parviz didn’t miss a beat.
“…There is no indication any specific minorities or their businesses were targeted.”
Besides, most of the Roman businesses have long since closed up.
“We need a response,” Parviz said, “Mozaffar?”
“Yes?” Mozaffar said.
“As Regent, you have to put out a statement denouncing the rioting. Since we’re a nation of rules and laws, we can’t condone violence. Those entitled brats in the street are merely doing what the Romans did and trying to subvert our nation from within.”
“That’s going too far, Parviz.”
“No, it’s the bare minimum response. We need to project strength at this moment. Showing weakness would only give in to the defeatism and cynicism that Jerusalem encourages.”
“Are you saying that Jerusalem is behind this?” the Minister of Intelligence asked. “Because from what I found, Jerusalem is no longer capable of that.”
“Doesn’t matter, but if we can spin it that way, then that will give sensible people an enemy to rally around,” Parviz said, “We can then paint anybody who continues complaining as a Jerusalemite sympathizer. Two birds with one stone. Mozaffar, get that statement out by tomorrow.”
An aide rushed into the room and whispered in the Minister of Intelligence’s ear. The minister’s eyes widened. “What? Are you sure? …Okay.”
He turned to the other men. “Julian Anniona has made his move.”
“That brat?” Parviz said. “I thought he left with the rest of them.”
“Officially, yes, but we have reason to believe he is still in the city. He just put out a video. Here.”
A video of Julian appeared on the TV screen. He was sitting in what appeared to be a hotel room, with a chessboard set up on the table in front of him.
“Citizens of Persia!” The Roman spoke in fluent Persian, his rhetoric and intonation flowing like poetry. “You may know who I am, but it matters not. I am merely a vessel through which the anger of the people makes itself heard. I am not alone, for I stand alongside many thousands, perhaps even millions, who are dissatisfied with the current state of affairs. Fear us, or rally behind us! The Persian government, an ostensibly meritocratic one that claims to respect the rule of law, has demonstrated it only wants to fan the flames of hatred. The so-called last defenders of meritocracy do this at a time when such hatred will only weaken us and invite the forces of true evil to snuff out the last light in this world. We stand with all who have no way of defending themselves, without considering their nationality or social class, regardless of whether they be Romans or Persians. Jerusalem has slaughtered countless billions since last November, but the Artesh slaughtered over eighty thousand Crusaders fleeing Isfahan on April 2 in cold blood, while they were all retreating and in no condition to fight. Furthermore, the Persian government has deigned the innocent Roman refugees residing in this land of freedom be considered guilty of the same crimes by national association. This is a cruel and meaningless act, and there shall be a reckoning.”
“Is that a threat?” Parviz said.
Mozaffar remained quiet.
Julian Anniona…he’s really doing it, huh?
“I claim responsibility for helping General Saikhangiin Börte and her troops survive the Battle of Mosul,” Julian continued, “I could not condone the cold sacrifice of thousands of Yavdian troops just to make the lives of Persian ones much easier. And so I took steps to rectify the situation and prevent that scenario from happening. I will not repudiate battle on a fair and level field, but nor will I tolerate one-sided massacres of the weak by the strong. The only ones who should kill are those who are prepared to be killed as well! Wherever oppressors abuse their power by making the powerless suffer, my allies and I shall appear to put them in place, no matter how mighty they may seem. No amount of guns or money can stop us.”
He thrust a fist into the air. “Those of you with power, fear us! Those of you without it, rally behind us! We shall make the people’s true voices heard and pass judgment on the wicked!”
The video ended.
“We should suppress this video,” Parviz said to the Minister of Intelligence.
“It’s no longer possible. Copies were simultaneously delivered to each major news organization and to online social media and video hosting sites. It’s already out there.”
“Damnit!” Parviz said. “Find that Anniona brat and arrest him for insurrection!”
Mozaffar said nothing.
Perhaps he can free us all…
---
The Isfahan Police Department analyzed the footage and soon figured out the hotel where Julian was broadcasting from. A cordon was set up five minutes later. Several squads of heavily armed counterterrorism units arrived after another ten minutes, establishing an impenetrable barrier which nobody could hope to break through. Once all exits were covered, the police moved in.
“Isfahan Police Department! Open up!”
“Hands behind your heads! Up against the wall!”
“Where is Julian Anniona?!”
“On the floor!”
Staff and guests screamed and cowered on the floor as the cops waved around fully automatic assault rifles and large riot shields, demanding to know where Julian was. Everybody was ordered to stay on the floor and await further instructions. Then the squads turned to the rooms, searching through every one on every floor. Parviz had assured Mozaffar that the courts had provided the necessary warrants already, but Mozaffar doubted it. It had only been less than half an hour since the broadcast happened.
“How did we move so fast?” Mozaffar asked.
“You’d be surprised at how fast the government can act when it’s not being held back by bureaucratic red tape,” Parviz said.
“Have you been reading Josiah Burkard’s books?”
“He makes some good points.”
Didn’t that guy get executed?
Body cameras on each cop broadcast footage of the raid back to Ali Qapu in real time. Maids screamed as the police pushed them against the walls, kicked down the doors of rooms, and turned over everything not nailed down without a care in the world for the guests’ belongings. As they ascended the floors, they reported in.
“Floor 1 clear, no sign of Julian Anniona.”
“Floor 2 clear. No sign of the target.”
“Floor 3 clear. No sign.”
This continued all the way until the top floor, which was likewise devoid of any boy named Julian Annniona. When the first team stormed onto the rooftop and found it also empty, Parviz slammed his fist against the table. “DAMNIT! Where the hell is that boy?!”
“You fell for the oldest trick in the book,” Mozaffar said, “That message was obviously prerecorded. Or perhaps the background was dressed up to look like that particular hotel’s rooms when it was actually somewhere else.”
“Don’t mock me, Mozaffar!” Parviz said. “He’s made a fool of the police! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!”
“I tried, but you weren’t listening!”
---
Elsewhere in Isfahan, Julian watched as the police’s heavy-handed crackdown played out on multiple computer screens, each also showing a red circle indicating a recording was in process.
“Like moths to a flame,” he said, “Mozaffar made me into his bogeyman, so he forces himself to treat me as one. People can be so predictable.”
“I’m surprised he fell for that,” Angelica said, “We didn’t put too much effort into the video.”
“When you want to believe in something, you see what you want to see,” Julian said, “This looks like enough material for Noor and Navid to work with. Now I just have to compress all of the files into something I can send…”
“Are you sure things are still going according to plan?” Tania said. “While Mozaffar did take the bait, we didn’t get the reactions we wanted from the general public.”
“That’s fine,” Julian said, “That’s why we have backup plans. The protests we’ve organized will no doubt spread across Isfahan and gain more supporters. They are close to reaching critical mass. One more push, and they’ll no longer need our help.”
“Does that mean we can start work on…” Angelica said.
Julian shook his head. “No, the defenses are still impenetrable.”
“What about the sewers?” Tania said. “We could try sneaking in that way.”
“Best not to waste our resources there for now,” Julian said, “On that front, we need to apply pressure from the public square. We should pick the battles we can win.”
“We sticking to our plan?” Angelica said.
“Yes,” Julian said, “Again, you might not like it, Angelica.”
“Try me.” Angelica cracked her knuckles. “As long as Mozaffar likes it less.”
Elsewhere
Angelica climbed out of the Balmung and leapt down to the ground. A light layer of red dust kicked up around her boots, accompanied by a muffled rustling coming from her boots. She appreciated the advancements in vac suits made out of necessity over the last few years. To allow humanity to better explore the surface of its new home, vac suits had to be as easy to put on as another layer of clothing, while retaining the same safety and durability of older models designed for space. The military-issue model she wore was flexible and comfortable, like a heavy coat. At first, she felt concerned that there was only a thin layer separating herself and her oxygen supply from the thin atmosphere, but the company assured her not a single vac suit had ever ruptured outside of combat.
Angelica looked around, taking in the sights of the Martian surface. She was currently near the apex of Olympus Mons, though from the gentle sloping and sheer size of the mountain it looked no different from any other part of the surface. It was far different from the mountains she was used to on Terra.
No… Her eyes turned up to the sky. It had been twenty years, but the blue Martian twilight still felt off to her, as if she still longed for the beautiful sunsets from home. The positions of the stars were still roughly the same. She reached up and pointed at a location she had memorized since her first day on Mars. Her visor followed her finger, marked the area, and zoomed in, revealing two new stars—one smaller than the other—in the sky.
There you are…ma maison
.
“Found you, Angelica.” Angelica turned around and found Julius casually leaning against the Balmung, arms crossed. The Sigurd was parked in the distance. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had tuned out the Sigurd’s approach. “Stargazing as usual?”
“Yes.” Angelica looked back up at the distant Earth. “Thinking of home.”
“Thinking of old Terra.”
“
Earth.” In private, Angelica didn’t hesitate to use that name, even when speaking to the emperor himself. “Yes. I can’t help but think of where we came from.”
“Terra is dead, Angelica.” Julius had no reason to use formalities in private. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Consider it the ramblings of someone who remembers the planet, but I can’t help but think otherwise.” Her visor scrolled through data on Earth’s atmosphere gathered by the latest imperial probes. “The atmosphere isn’t as irradiated as we once thought. And there are signs of continued human habitation. New sources of light, new structures, even a few radio transmissions. There are still people down there.” She pulled up a map of Europe and focused on what was once France. “Perhaps even my hometown is still alive.”
Julius nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen the data as well. I was briefed on it as soon as we received it.”
“And yet we refuse to do anything.”
“It’s not so much as refusing as being unable to do anything.” Julius gestured to the plains of Olympus Mons stretching out past the horizon. “This planet—our new home—is still at war. Our empire is the only hope for Terrankind, but UNAP intends to repeat the same mistakes as our forefathers did. We don’t have time to go back to a dead planet.”
That was true. They were still at war with UNAP. With the surrender of Mangala’s remaining habitats, many of the other nations had either followed suit or rallied around UNAP. UNAP was the last major faction with an industrial base, technology, and manpower the Reich could not easily crush in a single strike. But Julius would try anyways. At the end of the month, all of the Reich’s assets—both on the ground and in space—would be called into play for an attack on the UNAP capital, Beck. It was something they had been planning for months, even during the Mangala campaign. The timing had to be just right for all variables to perfectly line up and ensure victory. But right now, Angelica didn’t want to discuss the plan. She didn’t have to see through Julius’ visor to know what he was thinking. “What about
after we win, Julius?”
At that, Julius visibly recoiled. No gasp was transmitted to her audio, but she knew there was one. She shook her head. “Honestly, Julius, you’ve never been able to hide anything from me. You never had plans to go back to Earth, right?”
“Why should I concern myself with a planet that I’ve only lived on as an infant and never personally knew?” Julius’ voice rose. “Look around you, Angelica. All these red rocks, this mountain you say isn’t a mountain, the blue twilight you say is unnatural—it’s all natural to
me. It’s all I’ve ever known. Mars is the only planet I’ve lived on. I’ve spent my entire life in habitat domes, autoritters, and vac suits. I’ve never known a breathable atmosphere or wide open areas you can walk around in without limit—without a vac suit even. The priests talk about Jesus’ miracles at the Sea of Galilee, but I don’t know what a sea is. Yet people your age always talk about this glorious Eden, full of free air, unregulated water sitting around everywhere, sharp mountains like spears, and blue skies and red sunsets. To me,
that sounds alien.
That is what sounds unnatural. If it’s so great, then why is it an irradiated hellscape? Why were we cast out of it?”
Angelica looked across the barren red wastes. She closed her eyes and pictured a grassy meadow, with birdsong in the air, a light breeze rustling through her hair, and sunlight warming her skin. But as hard as she tried, the illusion fell apart. She could still sense the vac suit’s helmet boxing in her head from the echoes of her breaths. The vac suit’s sensors registered no wind, and even if there was, it wouldn’t feel the same.
“Julian.” The boy emperor let out an audible gasp. There was another old and discarded name Angelica didn’t hesitate to use. “I may sound like UNAP right now, but if you think about it, you’re the one who’s similar to our enemy.”
“And why’s that?”
“UNAP is rooted in the past. They cling to it like a lifeline, ignoring the reality of the present and the possibility of the future. But you do the opposite. You wish to discard the past entirely, focus entirely on the future. You speak of building a new home for Terrankind on Mars, one with no room for the old ways.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Julius said. “If the old ways failed us, then we should discard them. Build something entirely new.”
“
What foundations, Julian?” Angelica snapped “What foundations will you root your new world in?”
“I will not build my new world on rotten foundations!”
“And what if some of the old foundations still stand?! Will you tear them down with the rotten ones, or make use of them to maintain continuity? If we discard everything about our pasts, including those ideas and traditions that sustained us without destroying us, then what part of our civilization did we end up saving?”
“I…I…” Julius could not respond.
“Remember, Julian, you cannot discard the entirety of our history on a whim, just because parts of it destroyed Terra,” Angelica said, “It is up to you to salvage what can still be salvaged and use that to build the foundations to the future. Otherwise, we will never learn from our predecessors’ failures.”
Julius went silent. After a few moments, he gave his reply. “It is still difficult for me to see the importance in returning to a planet that I have only seen as an irradiated mess.”
“The old Earth that was will be a roadmap for the new Terra,” Angelica said, “After all, it is still the only planet we know of with a natural biosphere capable of supporting Terran life. Even if it’s irradiated, the data we gather on how it works will be instrumental in terraforming efforts. Furthermore, if we gather soil that isn’t irradiated, we can use it to supplement our agricultural efforts here. And finally, why wouldn’t we rescue any survivors still there and bring them here to become loyal imperial subjects? Would we leave our fellow Terrans to die and spend centuries struggling to terraform this planet?”
“Fellow Terrans…”
“Should they have a right to live with us, just like us, who escaped here twenty years ago? Or should we condemn them to a slow and painful death in the wastes?”
“But…”
“And terraforming efforts. How will we create a livable atmosphere here if we refuse to study the only other one we know? How will we grow crops from the lifeless dust on Mars if not for the soil of old Terra?”
“Uh…”
“How long will terraforming take? How much longer are you willing to delay it, just so the new Terra is purified, as you say, of the old ways? How long will we have to wait because you were not willing to use what worked, Julian?!”
“I—” Julius stammered. Then he relented, like he always did. “Okay, okay, you win. Perhaps there is some merit in returning to old Terra.”
“Of course there is,” Angelica said.
“Perhaps there are things worth saving from old Terra,” Julius said, “I’ll have to think more about it. But just as we shouldn’t forget the past, nor should we forget the present. We have a war with UNAP to win.”
“As soon as we return to Olympus Base, I will begin preparations. Beck will fall under my sword, I swear upon it.”
“Glad to hear it, Angelia,” Julius said, “I can’t wait to see what the Valkyrie of Alençon will do.”
“I will not disappoint you, my Emperor.” Angelica’s voice grew more formal.
“And after our victory, we will discuss old Terra. You have my word.”
Angelica nodded. “Thank you, Julius.”
---
Sorry for the delay. I know I said I needed more time, but I don't want you guys to wait any longer.