Chapter CLXXX – Forgive us our gate.

55th of Summer 5860
New Amsterdam, Commonwealth of Chanakburg (United States of America)

A bit away from Prusia, and farther ways away from Esmira and Ancoire, lay the city of Chanakburg of around ten thousand people. It was early in the morning, yet the fishermen by the waterfront had already gotten to work on their little boats. There were only a few trade ships by the harbor due to the ongoing crisis. The residents hoped that Esmira would open back up soon, news of Esmira’s destruction having yet to reach Chanakburg due to a lack of survivors on the other side.

For now, the slave revolt in the borderlands and the conflict between the Empire and its counties remained a far-away concern for the locals. Even the passage of a small Imperial procession, clad in its saffron and silk, wasn’t taken notice of by many. It wasn’t unusual – the occasional Imperial meeting did happen between the Empire and them. Yes, them. They who resided on the city upon a hill built close to Chanakburg, whose presence had become unnoteworthy by now. Their fences were built out of strong metal which the occasional thief had failed to cut, surrounded by wires that had thorns like that of a rose. On top of that it was protected by a magical barrier which would shock anyone who touched it with bare skin, truly an impenetrable fortress. Behind it the locals could see grey obelisks towering several stories high, all decorated with legions of exceptionally clear glass windows that would have cost a fortune in Gemeinplatz.

A terrifying gap into a whole another world, which had been there for so long that nobody really took note of it anymore. Right next to the buildings flew the flag of these otherworlders, fifty-one stars and thirteen white-and-red stripes. The walls of the town of New Amsterdam were only guarded by four soldiers, not that they needed much more with how well-defended and well-equipped they were compared to the locals. The Imperial procession reached the gates. They were a small group of about a dozen, one representative and eleven PS soldiers. The rest of the group had been left ashore on the boat they had sailed in from the capital. The guards by the gate didn’t even check who they were – it was clear that they were intended to be here. They did get quite a close look at the uniforms of the PS though, and after they passed by, one guard whispered to the other in the English language:

“Are those the goddamn Nazis?”

Still, it was their duty to stand by the gate, so they didn’t move an inch. It was probably one of those edgy otherworlders who thought it hilarious to make medieval men march in such outfits. The otherworlder responsible for the outfits, Mister Spear, was in the middle of the procession in full dress. Not that “full dress” meant much for him, since he was more of a civil dictator who preferred a simple suit nowadays. The man who was king didn’t need to say that he was the king, and that went for the outfit as well. The emperor was free to indulge in his shiny toys while the real men got stuff done.

The stuff to be done in question was a trip up to the office of the High Commissioner of Chanakburg, which was situated in the middle of New Amsterdam. Spear couldn’t help but marvel at the jungle of brick laid in front of him. Simple and utilitarian, is what it was. With a few columns and grand monuments to furbish the place, it’d be perfect for the New Empire. The residents of New Amsterdam, soldiers, their family, plus some local laborers, looked on at the march of the black gambesons. The local Gemeinplatzers didn’t make too much of it, while those from Earth had many thoughts to say the least. It was as if a company of incompetent historical re-enactors had come to town, the problem being that most historical re-enactors don’t usually have actual blood on their hands.

The office of the High Commissioner in question was an old castle. Entering it, Spear was met with an anachronistic mix of stone walls and modern furniture. Modern furniture which still bore elements from the Bauhaus of yore… the Bauhaus of yore which Spear’s coworkers had closed down and exiled. They and Spear had agreed on a few points in terms of architecture but, alas, had come quite the disagreement in terms of who to serve with the architecture. It was perhaps ironic that the thousand-year empire crumbled in a decade while the Bauhaus movement survived and evolved, but Spear tried to not dwell on that point too much.

After wading through the few bureaucrats and officers working in the castle, the High Commissioner’s office lay behind a glass door encased in aluminum. The PS squad was ordered to stay behind, while Spear himself politely knocked on the door.

“Come on in.”

With that, Spear entered the office. A spacious office desk, courtesy of a certain Swedish furniture company, flanked by the American flank. Behind it sat the portrait of what Spear assumed must be the president. In front of the portrait sat the man who spoke in the president’s name: His Excellency, High Commissioner Philip Smithson of Chanakburg. Spear observed that he looked young, sitting uncomfortably in his seat… yes, he was perfect. It was time for Spear to use his English.

“Good day, Mister Chancellor… Spear, was it?”

“Good day, Mister Commissioner. Yes, Spear.”

“Spear, Spear, Spear…” Philip looked at the man in front of him. He had only heard word, of course, nobody was able to simply send him a photograph of the man who ruled the Empire. An otherworlder, though not one he could recognize. A person from Earth would easily recognize the face of Spear’s former employer, and a few of his front-facing friends, but Spear hadn’t exactly been ever at the front. So much so that there wasn’t any popular image of him, save for an appearance in the one mod for a video game that most people would have never heard about or seen. Thus, to Philip, there was an ordinary-looking old man in front of him.

“Excuse me for my sudden appearance. I had intended to see you upon your appointment, but outstanding circumstances forbade me for doing so. Please allow me to congratulate you, late as it is.” Spear loathed having to speak so courteously to a man clearly so young and inexperienced, but he had to put up with it for now. He took a seat, looking right at the young man.

“Thank you, and no worries” Philip was slowly spinning around a ballpoint pen in his hand while talking “the President wishes for nothing but peace with the people of Gemeinplatz.”

“Of course, I don’t wish for anything but peace either. Which is why I am here, to inform you of the terrorists who have been attacking our realm for the last year. You must know, sir, that the treaty established between Gemeinplatz and America not only confers the control of Chanakburg to you, but it also stipulates that the States must come to our aid if anything threatens the security of our realm in exchange.”

“That much is true, however…” Philip shifted around in his seat, giving another whirl to his pen, thinking. Thinking of how to put the situation politely. “While nothing has been made official yet, the President plans on withdrawing the United States and our allies from Gemeinplatz. USAID has frozen all of its operations, including those in Gemeinplatz.”

Spear kept his calm façade up, though he was shocked on the inside. Voluntary withdrawal? From Gemeinplatz, a realm which was very cheap to exploit due to its low technology? For what reason? “I didn’t get any news of that, Mister Philip.”

“Most likely because of the sudden cessation of their activities, there wasn’t anybody to inform your government of an end to their activity. The President wishes to limit our international deployment, to end our involvement in the forever wars we’ve been fighting. While Gemeinplatz has been relatively peaceful, assisting you now would mean yet another indefinite commitment. The exact kind of commitment that our President and his government wishes to avoid. Not to mention the costs of keeping the gate between worlds open, the budget for which was slashed by a newly-formed Department of Government Efficiency. We cannot maintain it for much longer.”

“I see.” Spear took a deep breath. The Yankees willingly sticking their finger out of a juicy international pie, without even having to be asked… truly Gemeinplatz was a work of fantasy. Internally, Spear was equally relieved and worried. He had worried about the Americans coming to ruin his empire as they had done before, though he had also intended to squeeze them for assistance to end the slave uprising. It was why he hadn’t sent over any of his own men to directly fight the slaves: it would have been a waste when a bunch of Yankees with their assault rifles could finish the job much more quickly.

A worry gone, and a worry made…

“Then I won’t waste your time much longer. I wish your President the best of luck in his term. Have a good day.” With that, Spear shook the man’s hand and sat up to leave the room. All of a sudden, there was much more work for him to do. Right as his hands rested on the handle, he heard Philip.

“Before you leave, Mister Chancellor, about the uniforms your men are wearing…”

It seemed that their meeting had yet to come to an end.