The Universal Order of Nations

WE ARE MAKARIA COME.

In the light of yet another yellow sun, glowing like an oasis (or perhaps a mirage) in the eyes of a thirsting traveler, a continental world hung in the abyss among a backdrop of distant Austrian stars. Lush and vibrant, its waters and atmosphere were unclouded by the miasmas of centuries-long industry; its settlements were established, but still young by the standards of the Spur’s long history; and its civilized peoples were, more or less, peaceful and prosperous. Those peoples – plural, with three different civilizations observed in the first cursory overview alone – were also few and far between, with vast distances separating the true settlements from one another, and a far greater multitude of uncivilized peoples, migratory barbarians with the blood of the kill still shining on their clothing-skins, leading short and brutal lives throughout the rest of the world. If the fact that these various groups all seemed to be different species hadn’t already made the truth clear, just the discrepancies in technological understanding would have revealed to any visitor that these groups could not have developed on the same planet together.

Maras, formerly of Tribe 808, frowned deeply as he considered the scenario before him. This was no easy task, no sinecure such as that which had supported his easy life for three decades already. No, this was a challenge, a gift by the logic of the Makarian Order whose ranks Maras had joined in fear for his life and liberty, and by that same logic Maras had no choice but to bring all of his cunning to bear on a goal of advancement and prestige, or else be overrun – not by native barbarians and less-native settlers, but by his own ambitious and genetically-addled peers. Already in his hormone-scrambled mind, opportunities and risk assessments came and went: technologically-advanced settlements that offered greater economic rewards for conquerors, compared with slums the size of cities whose large populations would make an impressive and immediate manpower contribution to their masters’ plans, and contrasted with the open spaces of the barbarian wilds that would require almost no effort to claim but provide a would-be conqueror with almost nothing to profit and almost no one to rule. The peoples of the world would have to be taken into account likewise: urbanized, technologically-advanced Urstea (and occasional human hangers-on) whose biology was largely understood and could be more easily altered for Makarian use, regardless of their relatively-small initial number; the Britanga, whose large numbers and deep squalor attested to the desperation of those refugees and exiles who had escaped Austrian annexation, who could (with investigation and effort, at least) be turned to Makaria’s immediate interests but perhaps not easily turned to her servants’; and of course the native tribes, reptilian in nature and few in number, whose conquest would be more greatly valued by the possession of the land they walked over than the possession of themselves.

Tribal lizards of an undiscovered species and a small number meant extra work for Makaria’s geneticists for no real gain, and the value of the land would never be great to a people who had access to interstellar travel. Britangan DNA would also require serious study before the refugee population could be usefully turned to the goddess’s purposes, but their greater numbers would make up for the initial delays caused by their mystery, so long as a significant number could be persuaded to serve Makaria in return for their lives and the prospect of authority – that was to say, the path to their utility was clear, but how difficult it could be traversed remained in question. In the immediate term, the Knights’ eyes would surely focus on the various communities of Urstea scattered across the planet, whose technological industry would be more useful for Makaria’s further expansion, and therefore more useful for the one who could command it, both in profits and in power; the religious benefits of Urstea, though known and valued, were surely of secondary importance in this instance.

Maras, Knight of Makaria, allowed himself to imagine a realm of Urstea and fellow humans under his command… indeed, in his own possession, in a way that the bureaucratic leadership of Tribe 808 could never have provided him. The very thought, euphoric and heady, caused a stirring and a shudder to ripple through Maras’s augmented body, and he held on to that image in his mind’s eye for a long moment longer, before finally discarding his fantasy with a drawn-out sigh. A Knight he was, and his ambitions were no less than any other Knight’s, but so too were other Knights’ ambitions no less than his own. Maras was mighty, with his goddess’s gifts and the patronage of Lord Istaifos Agvantais – Lord Istaifos Custos, of Balura, of Ora, or even of Cheng – but he was still, in the end, Maras, whose characteristic tranquility had once guaranteed a stable and profitable future, and now, even in the chaos and hope of his divine mission, warned him in the strongest possible terms against engaging his fellow Knights, most of them veterans of war and politics, in a contest of arms and command. The inevitable competition to obtain the Ursteic settlements would be deadly to the Makarians even before they considered the defenses of the Urstea themselves. Maras, content and cautious to a fault, wanted nothing to do with the bloodshed to come.

Yet he was a Knight, and a transformed man as well, and he could not be idle when he had made oaths to his new goddess to strive for her victory, no matter the cost to himself. He would not seek to obtain the Ursteic villages when he knew better Knights would slaughter one another to do so, but the Britanga were there, they were numerous, and they were weak. Possessing them without obtaining the technological or industrial power of the Urstea would preclude Maras’s ambitions to unchallenged power, but the former politician was no stranger to subservience for the sake of survival. So he had come to Makaria, after all. So he would serve her, under the banner of a more daring, more violent Knight… whose own survival could not be so assured.

The squalid settlements of the Britanga lay scattered across the face of the world below, and Maras could almost imagine them trembling in his sensor readings as the Makarians’ eclectic fleet of transports encroached on the boundaries of this new world’s atmosphere. The Urstea and the humans were likely rushing for their hidden caches of weapons, ready to defend their freedom, but the Britanga… Here was a people already defeated, and the coming of the Order’s dedicated Knights would only reinforce the notion of perpetual failure upon their fragile minds. Let the conquest come quickly, then: Let Maras be the one to rebuild them, the individuals and the nation together, to achieve a new victory, in Makaria’s image and name.

Visions of Snakes to Come

The room was lavish, in a barbaric sort of way. Rugs of animal skins lay scattered across the floor, while crude tapestries hung on rough, wooden walls. A table sat in the corner, littered with papers surrounding a bulky and battered holo-projector, a second-hand model that was nonetheless afforded pride of place at the evident work station. Against the far wall, a bed frame covered in more tapestries and furs attested to its owner’s constant presence in this space. In the center, a roughly-hewn stone chair was placed to steal as much of a visitor’s attention as possible – a throne, even without the jewels and gold.

The owner wasn’t at home. So Maras, formerly of Tribe 808, took possession in the name of Holy Makaria, with immediate effect.

Reclining as best as he could on the uncomfortable, but very literal, seat of power, Knight Maras received a line of soldiers, mostly Orans paying homage to their master in the name of Makaria, and a small number of prisoners, offered as gifts by his men and even some fellow Knights in return for his kindness and consideration. The recorders were busy as Maras acknowledged the capture of the town called Webuye and the final surrender of the Britanga that were captured there, offered his thanks to his soldiers, accepted their gifts to him with gratitude, and apportioned the territory to his men on the basis of rank and according to their deeds and accomplishments in the course of the battle to take the place. Those captured in battle would be put to use, he declared; those more accepting of the new regime would suffer no harm, so long as they fulfilled their obligations to Maras as their Knight and Makaria as their Lady. The might of the Order of Makaria was manifest in the outcome of the battle and the presence of so many soldiers and Knights that stood before him. The munificence of the Cult would come with the construction of the Temple that would soon stand on the place where Maras sat even then. Let the Britanga and all the peoples of this world know, Maras declared, that Makaria was and would always be victorious.

The cameras went dark, and the soldiers fractionally relaxed their stiff attention. Maras sighed and leaned back into his uncomfortable seat. “Get them processed,” he ordered, waving toward the captured Britanga. “And well done again, gentlemen; go ahead and give them a go.” With his universal translator active, this statement prompted more than a little whimpering from the bound prisoners in the corner, but the soldiers responded with alacrity, and the miserable collection was hustled out of the room before any real wailing could begin. Maras immediately turned his attention to his fellow Knights, his subordinates only by the will of Lord Istaifos Custos, and asked, “Has the area been secured?”

Isaurian-born Knight Pevano Kolis crossed his arms in contempt. “This village and the nearest three in the vicinity are all crushed,” he snorted. “No one’s rising up for the next generation, and by then they’ll be ours.”

Maras glared at the man. They had worked well together, for all that Kolis – Knight Pevano, rather – had yearned for Maras’s given position of command. They had already disagreed on the most useful target for conquest, after all… and those other targets were Maras’s priority now. “I’m not interested in this rabble,” he snapped. “The Urstea and the rest of the Order! How much longer will we stay unmolested here before the Austrians are subsumed or killed off and we see visits from our fellow Knights?”

Pevano’s expression clouded over as he realized his commander’s concern. “Early reports suggest that the Urstea will continue resisting for at least another week, and any attempt on our part to preserve their lives or technology will only prolong that resistance. We will be well on our way to rebuilding Webuye and the surrounding territory before that happens. We can fortify at your order… but with all due respect, I don’t believe that we’ll have to worry about an attack by one of our own, sir.”

“I am an Oran, and not welcome among the veterans,” Maras replied bluntly, his raised eyebrow acting as an unspoken accusation toward the Isaurian before him. “We all serve Makaria, but in so doing we serve ourselves. You would be safe enough, Knight Pevano, if you acted alone. But you act under my direction, and I am not safe at all.” Maras turned his glare toward the door to the improvised throne room, as though he could see the blasted landscape outside. “This chaos around us is an open invitation for our rivals to attempt a further conquest, so long as they move quickly while the dust of battle still rises in the air. As soon as the first Ursteic town is subdued, we will surely be visited by our brethren in arms.” Maras’s attention turned back to Pevano. “If they come for us, we must be ready. Construction of the Temple takes whatever priority is left, but I want our new territory properly garrisoned as soon as possible. Dig in and fortify – fortify everything. We will need constant reconnaissance updates from our ships in orbit; make requests from multiple vessels at a time, in case one of them gives us false information at the behest of a friend.”

Pevano, clearly wondering about his superior’s mental state, nonetheless nodded without hesitation. “I’ll have that reconnaissance to you without delay, sir,” he said. “We’ll have reinforcements as soon as they’re available.”

Maras nodded absently. “Vet the Knights as best as you can,” he instructed. “If there are Orans among them, I’d like them with me as a matter of course. But prioritize soldiers. Offer them Knighthood if they serve with distinction; I’ll ask Lord Istaifos to make it possible, but they don’t need to hear it if he doesn’t.”

“I would prefer to face some existential threat with more Knights at my back, sir,” the clearly-disgruntled Isaurian argued, adding, “no matter where they come from.”

Maras sighed. “As would I,” he admitted, “but adding to the potential for high-level infighting at the moment of crisis will only doom us all. We will homogenize as much as we can at the top. Orans who face the same disdain by our fellow Knights will not be tempted to betray us to them. We will seek other advantages as they come, but this is our best hope for now. Make it happen, Knight Pevano.”

Pevano’s narrowed eyes clearly expressed his displeasure, but he saluted nonetheless. “As you command, sir.”

Maras nodded. “Enjoy your spoils,” he said, and waved the other Knight off. Pevano Kolis turned on his heel and departed the room in a huff, leaving Maras cursing that there had not been some other, less offensive way of explaining that he didn’t trust his subordinates or their kind. Pevano and his fellow Isaurians in Webuye had been placed under Maras’s authority by the word of the Custos himself, and the Oran prayed desperately that the remembered authority of Lord Istaifos would be enough to keep him alive; but no Knights coming down by ship would have received such an instruction from the Custos, and would be far more susceptible to some rival’s undermining tricks.

And Maras, notwithstanding being newly-remade in Makaria’s name, had plenty of rivals – some more vindictive than others.

Witheria wrote:

hello i am new here

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Hello

Can I be the WA Delegate?