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For a wonder, nothing went horribly wrong in the week before the meeting. I was free to live the shut in lifestyle, and I took advantage of the opportunity to cram as much useful information as possible into my head so I could try to wring out a better deal. It wasn't the most exciting week of my life, but it had to be done. In theory I could leave that kind of thing up to the ambassador on site, but I'd never met our man in Londinium. He was a holdover from the previous administration, and in all honesty nothing I'd seen in my new life had given me much confidence in the diplomatic adroitness of the Germanian upper crust.

We set out the day before the meeting. I brought Visha and General Zettour along with me. They could prove helpful during the meeting itself and, in all likelihood, one of them was going to end up running the country afterwards, so it was best to get them ready to hit the ground running. Germania was, of course, not allowed to own airplanes, so we made the journey by way of a commandeered ferry. The accommodations were comfortable enough, but it was a little annoying that the trip would start in the early morning and continue into the evening.

Fortunately, I had access to a shortcut.

I waited until we were in the North Sea proper, out of sight of land, before heading to the rear deck. I stood there for a moment, looking out at the waves. There was no real reason to hesitate. Just the queasy feeling of unease tickling away at my stomach.

My plans were more than a little provocative. Also, when you got right down to it, my only real card to play in this negotiation was the sympathy generated by the harsh peace treaty and the Francois occupation. There was a part of me that wanted to keep my head down and lay low.

This was no time to be ruled by emotion, though. This was a time to embrace rational thinking in order to achieve my desired result. Basic signaling theory said that the more the Francois wanted me gone, the more they'd be willing to give up in order to get rid of me. And the more firmly I seemed to be cemented in place, the more they would expect to have to give up in order to achieve their aim. I could hardly expect them to make serious concessions if it looked like I already had one foot out the door. It was practically my duty to the country to show as much confidence as possible for the next few days.

Once I'd firmed my resolve, the take off was simple. I had thought it would be tricky. I hadn't had to adapt to a new military grade orb in a long time, and I'd never had a chance to use a foreign orb. In the end, though, a flight spell was a flight spell. I was zipping up towards cruising altitude almost as soon as I put my mind to the task.

The feeling of flight was a little unusual without my usual flight suit. Considering the situation, it was obviously a bad idea to wear a military issued uniform. Instead I was dressed in a white blouse and khakis, topped off with a heavy leather jacket. My hair was tucked under a leather cap to keep it out of my eyes. All in all, it would have led to some kind of fashion disaster if I had to dogfight anybody, but for a leisurely cruise it was all right. I'd left my rifle at home, of course, and the lack of weight was throwing me off as much as everything else. I would have been more comfortable if I could put up a full wind screen, but I'd want more time with the orb before I started getting fancy with it.

It was exceedingly rare for anybody to get a chance to use a foreign orb, really. The computation orb was a delicate piece of clockwork designed to channel mana in order to carry out its user's will. If the user was interrupted halfway through a spell by, for example, catastrophic blood loss caused by enemy fire, that mana was left to run wild without direction. No aerial mage would be courteous enough to use his last breath to activate the safety measures needed to preserve the orb for enemy use. If anything, most of those war maniacs would direct their efforts in the other direction. Thus, the tried and true method of scavenging the battlefield to get a look at your enemy's technology, when applied to aerial mages, usually turned up a pretty shell wrapped around half-molten clockwork pieces.

Killing aerial mages in their sleep got around that problem. Unfortunately, artillery spells were a little rough on clockwork. Accordingly, the result of our efforts in Duisbuch, history's single greatest and most one sided slaughter of aerial mages to date, was the unprecedented harvest of three mostly-functional computation orbs. Only one of them was safe for flight.

As I grew more familiar with the orb, I started to appreciate its qualities more and more. It was definitely a late or even post war model. The performance was head and shoulders above the single core orb I had been issued back during flight school. The Francois had been working hard to close the gap in computation orb technology. Of course, they were still well behind the standard set by the Type 97, but it wasn't their fault Being X was so capricious with his "miracles."

I was also able to appreciate the flight for its own sake as I got more comfortable with the orb. Flying over the sea is miserable in bad weather. On the other hand, on a sunny day like the one I was enjoying, it was downright picturesque. I set a leisurely pace. I figured there was every chance that this could be the last time I flew under my own power, so I might as well enjoy it.

I was up high enough to see the coast of Francois off to my left and Albion to my right as I approached the Channel. Truly a unique sight. I took a deep breath, tasting just a hint of the sea, even so far up. It was a pity aerial mages had so few chances to fly for recreation.

I had passed a few kilometers beyond what I thought was Albion's detection range before I was hailed. Perhaps they were trying to disguise the actual limits of their sensor equipment.

"Londinium control to unidentified mage. Identify yourself immediately. I repeat, identify yourself immediately."

"I am Chancellor Tanya von Degurechaff," I said, floating to a halt. I made sure to smile. That sort of thing comes through in your tone of voice. "I know you weren't expecting me until later, but I thought arriving a little early would be all right."

"Please stand by."

Radio operators were usually pretty stoic. I counted the bit of unease coming over the air as a point in favor of things going as planned. Also a good sign was the lack of anti-aircraft fire.

"Londinium control to Chancellor Degurechaff. Please maintain your position and wait for your escort."

"Chancellor Degurechaff, roger."

I took some pleasure in finally dodging that Pixie call sign, at least for the moment.

I didn't have to wait too long for my escort to make its appearance. I could sense them before I could see them. Twelve mana signatures. It seemed a little excessive, but I suppose they figured it was better safe than sorry. It wasn't until they were almost within shouting distance that I realized that I recognized one of the mana signatures.

I didn't make a habit of memorizing enemy signatures. There was no point, really, at the rate that we went through them. It was like trying to memorize somebody's name when you knew you were never going to see them again.

The one exception was the leader of the Allied Kingdom's mages in Africa. After flying missions against him and his battalions for so long, I couldn't help but remember the mana signature of the one we'd nicknamed Bulldog. As the escort company approached, I saw that he had taken point.

"What an honor," I said, as soon as he was close enough for conversation to be possible. "Do you know how much time I spent trying to figure out how to get this close to you?"

"Not nearly as much time as I spent praying you would stay far away, I reckon," he replied.

Relative distance had been our primary point of contention for years. I couldn't count how many times we spent all day maneuvering for position, never drawing close enough to exchange meaningful fire. It was a beautiful way to spend a war.

I laughed, lost in the happy memories. "I have to say, it was fun to face off against a commander with the same understanding of war."

After the disaster of the armistice and the Francois army's escape to Africa, I was in a bit of a funk. Any fool could see that the Empire would have trouble supporting an extended campaign outside of its home continent. When the Allied Kingdom joined the war, our logistics situation went from precarious to outright disastrous. We would have been better served to hunker down on the defense, preferably back in Europe, instead of pursuing a fool's errand abroad.

Nobody was consulting me on the broader conduct of the war by that point, though. Especially after I'd tried to launch an attack on my own authority after that damned armistice was signed but before it officially went in to effect. The only thing left for me to do was to follow orders and face off against the enemy in front of me.

Unfortunately, I was faced with a series of idiots at first. The 203rd, up against an incompetent enemy, was too well trained to do anything but tear them apart. I couldn't have called them off if I wanted to. If I'd forcibly made them stop, they would have complained, and then I would have been in real hot water with the higher ups. I could only resign myself to suffering the curse of leading a bunch of war maniacs.

When Bulldog finally took over and whipped the enemy mages into shape, it was a relief. Finally, we were free from the constant push to advance ever further from our supply stockpiles. Once we faced an enemy with no obvious weaknesses, the 203rd was happy to follow my lead and probe the opposing formation from afar. We still got in the occasional potshot on the enemy below, so my immediate superior couldn't complain that I wasn't doing my job, but with no close in fighting against enemy mages there was no real risk of injury.

It wasn't quite a full on sitzkrieg, but it was the best a mere Major like myself could ever hope to orchestrate. If not for the weather, it would have been a wonderful vacation.

He chuckled, though it sounded a little strained. "A bit more fun for you than me, I think."

Everybody had their own perspective on the good old days. For me, the change from the Rhine front was like a vacation. For him, flying from the rain and fog of England into the harsh sun of Africa must have been quite a shock. Well worth it, though, I was sure, for the command experience.

He turned and began leading the flight in towards Londinium. I fell in beside him, with the rest of the company filling out a v-shape behind us. The most basic of formations, it worked for geese and it worked well enough for aerial mages. I did notice something a bit off as I glanced over at Bulldog's uniform.

"Are those lieutenant's pips?"

He nodded, before looking over and seeing the question written on my face. "I was only ever in charge with a field promotion. High command decided that flying a holding pattern weren't extraordinary enough to keep the rank."

Once more, I was given a reason to appreciate the strict meritocratic policy of the Empire. When the Empire discovered a talented aerial mage, they did everything possible to nurture their career. In Albion, obviously, politics played a large role. Not that the Empire was free of cliques and personality clashes, but things never would have gotten so out of hand as to bury a talent like Bulldog.

"Typical," I said, shaking my head. "Ah, I'll have to remember, now, Weiss owes me a bottle of wine."

It was his turn to look at me with confusion.

"He thought they'd have you running the aerial mage program by now," I continued, "but I told him that Albion's army always does the intelligent thing... after exhausting every alternative."

"Well, I couldn't say that," he said, the accompanying chuckle sounding much more natural than before, "though I might've heard somebody say something similar."

We exchanged a bit more small talk on the way down, but most of my attention was on the city growing more and more visible below us. Londinium was quite the sight. It sprawled out far larger than Berun, and was at least as densely packed with people and activity. The smog permeating the city was unpleasant to fly into, but the industrial production represented by all of the active smokestacks was quite impressive. There was a reason that the Empire, whose army had marched where it pleased throughout Europe, had never been able to seriously threaten Albion's soil.

We landed outside of a building that looked important. That should be where my ambassador was engaged in the pre-meeting meeting with representatives of every party to hash out the niggling little details that accompany a major diplomatic summit. A small crowd had gathered around us, held back by the heavy police presence. The bright flashes of cameras going off indicated the presence of more than a few journalists in the crowd.

I ignored the commotion and removed my cap, stowing it in my pocket. I tried for a moment to straighten my hair before giving it up as a bad job. Finally, I plucked the captured computation orb from its mount on my jacket and tossed it over to Bulldog with a smile.

"Here, a souvenir."

With that, I turned and headed for the front door. The police blocking the way visibly sized me up as I approached. I reflexively drew on a bit of magic and spun out a reflex booster. I mean, I wasn't going to thrash them and keep going if they tried to stop me, not with a whole company of aerial mages right there, but I wanted to be ready in case somebody did something foolish. Under the influence of the reflex enhancement, I could actually see the moment the cop in charge decided that stopping me was more trouble than it was worth. The police line parted and I walked inside without breaking stride.

Once inside, I located the meeting room through the simple expedient of heading towards the highest concentration of guards. None of them wanted any part of the diplomatic incident of physically keeping me from my ambassador, so I was able to make my way to the meeting room more smoothly than I'd expected.

I stepped inside to find a preview of tomorrow's arrangements. Four men, representing the Unified States, Allied Kingdom, Legadonia Entente, and Republic of Francois, sat on one side of the table. One man, representing the Republic of Germania, sat on the other. It seemed there had been some discussion going on, but they all fell silent and turned to look when I threw open the doors and strode into the room.

I stopped at the head of the table, spreading my arms wide.

"Gentlemen! Thank you all for coming. If you're finished with the preliminaries," I said, catching my ambassador's eye and receiving a nod in return, "I have a few matters to bring to your attention before the negotiations begin tomorrow."

The Francois ambassador sprang to his feet. "You flew here with a computation orb! How can you speak to us of peaceful negotiations?"

"We recently happened to come into the possession of a military grade computation orb. A Breguet Modèle D, to be precise," I said. "I rushed here to return it as soon as possible, in compliance with the Treaty of Triano. Really, your government should be more careful about leaving such things lying around."

He had nothing to say to that. It seemed unlikely that he was conceding the point. Judging by his white knuckled grip on the table in front of him, he was probably too furious to speak. I cleared my throat and waited a beat to be sure that I had everybody's attention before I continued.

"It's simple enough to knock a man to the ground. Plant your boot on his neck and stick a rifle in his face, and you can even keep him there without much trouble," I said. "But eventually, you have to make a decision. Do you pull the trigger, or do you let him up?"

Out of all the logical fallacies, my favorite is the excluded middle. If you can convince your audience that they only have two choices, and one of the choices is terrible, how can they do anything but take the remaining choice? Of course, a little thought would quickly reveal the holes in the argument. Even taking my analogy on its own terms, an incapacitated man can be tied up in restraints or tossed into prison rather than being set free or shot on the spot. Still, I felt obligated to try to frame the argument in a way that would favor Germania.

"You went to war to dismantle the Empire. Congratulations! The Empire has been destroyed," I continued, pantomiming a moment of applause. "What remains is Germania. How long shall we be punished for having dared to reach beyond our grasp?"

I took a moment to stare down each of the ambassadors in turn. Honestly, their initial justifications for the war were pretty weak. Not that it mattered in the face of overwhelming strength, but to the extent that they wanted Germanians to comply willingly rather than merely capitulating in the face of force, they really ought to restrain themselves a bit. I was pleased to see that the Legadonian ambassador looked a bit shamefaced.

"It was also your wish that we replace the Emperor and instead vote for our leaders, which has led to the current troubles," I said. "After all, who will vote in favor of their own humiliation and impoverishment?"

I also thought it was fair to remind them that any agreement would have to take into account the wishes of the Germanian people. And that that obstacle had been created by their own hand. It was also a classic negotiation tactic to act as though you were restrained by somebody who wasn't at the table. I'd love to take any deal that would guarantee me a cushy exile, but the people couldn't possibly accept terms that were too onerous... even a car salesman knew to pretend to fight with his manager for the benefit of the customer.

Really, I was saving them trouble in the long run. If they were too harsh on Germania, there was a genuine risk that they could drive the voters into the arms of some maniac who would kick off another world war.

"Will Germania be governed as a colony for the benefit of a foreign master?" I continued. "Or will it become a peaceful republic, standing side by side with our European brethren? The time has come to make a choice. I'll await your decision."

I gestured to my ambassador and turned to leave. He fell in beside me. We were most of the way to the door before the Francois ambassador regained his voice.

"You managed to talk for a long time without mentioning the money you owe."

I paused. Turning around, I saw he was pointing an accusatory finger in my direction. I could feel a smile creeping across my face. By this point, the adrenaline rush that comes with facing an enemy who wanted me dead was an old friend.

"If you want that money so badly," I said, "come and take it."

He sat down.

ooOoo

Our ambassador seemed a bit nervous as we walked out of the meeting, but he pulled himself together enough to at least present a composed facade once he saw the crowd waiting for us outside. A car was waiting to take us back to the embassy. During the drive I did my best to reassure him that everything was going to plan. He probably would have been less reassured if he had realized that the plan was simply to hope that the other parties discussed matters among themselves and came to a decision that favored us.

We arrived back at the embassy in time for dinner. The meal was a taste of home: some kind of sour meat dish, steamed within an inch of its life. I couldn't even complain. It wasn't like a local chef would have done much better. I really needed to contrive to "discover" miso soup at some point. I hoped I would have time to figure out a way to do it once I was safely exiled.

After dinner came the first bit of good news for the day with the announcement that we had a discreet visitor. At any big meeting like this at least as much got hashed out in side discussions as it did in the official talks. It was a good sign that we were being included in those side discussions. I had a spring in my step as I led Mr. Lloyd to a meeting room where a tea set was waiting, complete with a steaming kettle of water.

He took a moment to make two cups of tea. I accepted the one he offered to me and took a sip out of courtesy, though I didn't much care for the taste. He took a moment savoring the scent wafting out of his own cup before taking a drink. Finally, he set the cup down and looked me in the eye.

"I understand that you feel the provisions of the Treaty of Triano are unnecessarily restrictive," he said.

Anybody who paid any attention at all to my public positions knew that much. Still, things were starting on a positive note. I decided to focus on our common interests.

"In that they leave the heart of Europe wide open to Russite conquest, yes."

"You're still focused on the Russy Federation?"

Considering the recent friction between us and the Francois, I could understand his surprise. It still caught me off guard, sometimes, how naive everybody was to the threat posed by a communist regime in charge of one of the world's largest nations.

"The Francois want to rob us blind and perhaps seize some land," I said. "The Rus would slaughter everybody who stood in the way of their communist utopia."

"Do you think they could?"

The Rus weren't exactly covering themselves in glory out in the far east. On the other hand, they had a deep, deep well of people and resources that they had yet to tap into. For the moment, political stability seemed more important to them than military capacity, but that could change at any time.

"Communism is an evil ideology. It's incompatible with human nature, and in the long run it's doomed to failure," I said. "In the short run, they can build an awful lot of guns, tanks and planes."

"Be that as it may," Mr. Lloyd said, "the Allied Kingdom has its own security concerns."

"Naturally," I replied.

"If you could agree to certain restrictions regarding Germania's navy," he said, "it would greatly assuage our concerns regarding any other form of military build up."

Well, it was only natural that the highest priority of the Allied Kingdom would be to keep our navy in check. It was somewhat laughable that they were concerned about our navy, though. The entire might of the Empire had been funneled into naval production for decades before the war, and the Allied Kingdom had handled the resulting fleet easily enough. Germania's current navy wasn't much more than a glorified coast guard, and it was already pushing the limits of what we could afford.

If he was willing to give literally anything of value in exchange for limits on our fleet, I would be criminally negligent not to take it. I did my best to keep a neutral expression in place as I tried to feel out his position.

"What sort of restrictions?"

"To keep it to one third of the size of our fleet, in each class of ship," he said. "By weight, overall, so there wouldn't be too much fiddling about."

One third of a gigantic fleet was still a large fleet. Far beyond our ability to finance on a long term basis, and probably beyond our ability to build in the first place. It was the same as no limit at all. Still, I figured I ought to at least haggle a little bit.

"So, what," I complained, "our fleet is to replicate yours in miniature?"

"The Admiralty feels that would be the easiest to keep track of," he replied.

Ah. That made sense. If Germania were to tear up the treaty entirely and spend all of its energy building submarines, the resulting fleet would be disproportionately annoying for the Allied Kingdom to deal with. A downsized version of their own fleet would be relatively easy to mop up. The real value to them wasn't the limit on the overall size of the fleet, but rather its composition. Pretty sneaky.

Of course, what I knew that they didn't was that in any future war with the Allied Kingdom, Germania was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent guaranteed to lose. That being the case, there was no point in building a fleet that could annoy Albion in time of war. If anything, I'd prefer that Germania be left with a fleet that obviously had no chance at all against the Royal Navy. I wanted a nice, quiet exile. The less temptation left to my successor to start a foolish war, the better.

"You're mostly concerned about battleships and u-boats, right?" I said. "And perhaps heavy cruisers?"

I wasn't particularly knowledgeable about naval operations. I did know from my military history studies at the War College that the battleship race had been a major factor souring the relationship between the Empire and the Allied Kingdom around the time of my rebirth. The problem represented by submarines was obvious. Also, I figured that a cruiser with enough guns on it could start to become a battleship-level threat.

"I suppose that's about right," he said.

"How about letting us take tonnage out of those categories," I asked, "and shift it into others?"

If Germania wanted to threaten the Allied Kingdom with a battleship, they'd get about as much value by taking the equivalent amount of steel and tossing it into the sea. More, even, since they wouldn't have to pay to sail it from place to place or lose the lives of its citizens along with the steel at the bottom of the sea. I was able to draw this conclusion based on my history classes from my previous life, but it was honestly an easy conclusion to draw just by comparing our nations' fleet strengths.

Submarines, on the other hand, mostly seemed to be of strategic use in drawing the Unified States into European wars.

"If you build fewer u-boats, cruisers, and battleships," he asked, "what would you be building instead?"

"I've heard good things about your floating landing strips," I replied.

"You want to build aircraft carriers?"

"And destroyers," I said. "Honestly, for me, the main use for a fleet is to help control the sky."

I didn't actually intend to build the navy up at all. As a matter of principle, though, what Germania did build should be suitable for the coming era of warfare. Well, that wouldn't be my problem, anyways, but I at least wanted to leave a viable path open to my successor.

"A unique perspective," he said. Really, it was amazing how many ways somebody could call you an idiot to your face without actually saying the word.

"I'd also be willing to go down to a flat thirty percent ratio in exchange for the flexibility."

"I'll have to run it up the chain," he said, "but I suspect we can reach an agreement."

"Wonderful."

That seemed to be the only substantive matter he wanted to discuss. I had hoped we could talk about the specifics of my exile, but he never brought it up. More than likely they were still hashing it out among themselves. I'd bet the Francois were pushing to see me sent to Antarctica or some similarly dire location. Well, I could only hope that they would eventually settle on something sensible.

ooOoo

Our next visitor was less congenial, but I did my best to give him a pleasant welcome. Mr. Johnston was after all speaking for the Unified States of America. Besides its inherent military power, the Unified States had also loaned a lot of money to the other participants in the Great War. As a nation, it had a tremendous amount of influence, even if it didn't always seem inclined to take advantage of the opportunity to affect events in Europe.

"Let's get right to it," he said, ignoring the refreshments. "You got a money problem."

"Oh?" I asked. I had thought we had left the worst of our currency troubles behind.

"The Unified States loaned an awful lot of money to the frogs and limeys," he said. "If they don't get any reparations payments, they aren't gonna pay us back."

Right. That. The Unified States hadn't taken much of a cut from the reparations payments in the final Treaty of Triano, but they were still indirectly exposed to risk from our non-payment.

"Loans... you mean the money you spent to purchase a weapon to use to strike at the Empire?"

"Funny, when they other fellas say it," he said, "they call it a contribution to a common cause."

Either way, I thought his attitude was a little surprising. Money was a weapon like any other. For the most part I thought it was understood that when you used cash to help fight a war, it was just as thoroughly used up as any other expended ammunition.

"You expect to be paid back?"

"Why else would anybody ever extend a loan?"

And I thought I was cold blooded. The Unified States had loaned that money to its allies, who had largely used it to purchase weapons from the Unified States, before using those weapons against the enemies of the Unified States. To try and collect on the loans after all that was really something else.

I'd had some idle thoughts about how war could be a profitable business, but I was clearly a few steps behind the Americans.

"Everyone always describes Americans as uncultured rubes," I said, ruefully, "yet you seem to come out ahead in every bargain."

"Just lucky, I guess," he replied, shrugging. "Now, look, we can move some money around, make things easier for everybody. But you're going to have to pitch in. I figured I should cut out the middleman and talk to you directly, instead of hoping you and the Francois can make nice."

I could appreciate the honesty, if nothing else. "How much should the Germanian government be prepared to chip in, exactly?"

The terms he outlined involved a substantial lump sum. However, it was coupled with rather favorable payment terms over a rather long period of time. Overall we'd be on the hook for roughly one tenth of our current reparations obligations on a yearly basis. Still a burden, but a manageable one. Of course, if we defaulted it wouldn't be the Francois coming to collect, but the Americans.

It was an attractive offer, but I felt like it wasn't quite following through on my campaign promises. After all, I had sought to end reparations payments altogether. Reducing them to a manageable level didn't have the same ring to it.

On the other hand, it wasn't like I had much of a choice. This felt like a take it or leave it kind of offer. Well, maybe there was a little wiggle room.

"Is your army still in the process of demobilizing?" I asked.

"Mostly done," he said, after a moment's thought. "I guess there's a few bits still winding down. Why?"

"If you were willing to alter our transaction into a sale of surplus tanks and artillery," I said, "you could tack another five or ten percent onto that monthly payment."

He still seemed confused by the idea.

"I gotta be honest, most of our heavy gear in storage is basically scrap at this point," he said. "It's out of date and I don't know if any of it is even being maintained."

"Anything to put between Parisee and Berun is welcome," I said. "More to the point, if you want the average voter to support actually paying you back, much better to have sold us weapons in a time of need than to have extorted promises in a time of weakness."

Of course, I could see the necessity of acceding to any kind of demand the Unified States chose to make. That wouldn't really matter, though, if the voters remained vehemently against the payments. They'd find some maniac to vote for who would refuse to pay and start this crisis all over again. In the worst case scenario somebody might even try to pull me out of exile in order to calm things down. It was better to head all of that off while I had the chance.

"So, what, we magnanimously forgive most of the war debts out of the goodness of our hearts, and then coincidentally stumble into a profitable sale? I like the way you think," he said, chuckling. "I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

What an odd thing to say. Eh, let the Americans set as much surveillance as they liked on wherever they wound up sending me. It wasn't as if I intended to escape from my well deserved retirement in the first place.

"You're too kind."

ooOoo

The Francois never dropped by to visit. A bit disappointing, but not a surprise. With the Unified States setting the tone on financial matters, the only issue of special interest to the Francois would be my exile. No doubt they'd prefer to announce their demand in public, rather than hash things out in private. Unfortunate, but I didn't mind subjecting myself to a little public humiliation if it would finally secure my easy life out of danger.

The four of us, Zettour, Visha, the ambassador, and me, headed for the meeting together the next morning. We chatted for a little while about the upcoming negotiations, but there really wasn't that much to say. As a country, we couldn't exercise much influence over the course of events. We could speculate as to what was to come, but that was about it.

I was greeted by a wave of camera flashes as I stepped out of the car. I ignored the surrounding reporters and led our little entourage inside. I had at least changed out of my flight clothes into my usual dress and jacket combination, which should be a bit more photogenic. It was funny. At first I had adopted the look because I only owned the one jacket and a pair of similar white dresses provided by the orphanage. I had stuck with it as my finances improved for the sake of building a brand image, and by now the average Germanian probably wouldn't recognize me if I wore anything else. I had been leery of wearing a dress at first, but it honestly wasn't that different from walking around in a yukata.

I put fashion concerns out of my mind as we followed the guards deeper into the building. Soon they led us into the same meeting room from the previous day, where I was presented with two familiar people and two familiar faces. The Unified States was represented again by Mr. Johnston, as crossing the Atlantic for a meeting like this was impractical for a sitting president. The Francois were also represented by an ambassador. Mr. Mirande's government had collapsed shortly after his expeditionary force; nobody was clear exactly who would be taking over, but in the mean time the ambassador could continue to represent his country. The Legadonian ambassador had been replaced by a member of their governing Council of Ten, and the Prime Minister of the Allied Kingdom was hosting the meeting.

"Madame Chancellor, welcome," the Prime Minister said, perfectly polite. Everything I had heard about the man suggested that he was the consummate politician.

We shook hands in greeting, before engaging in a bit of small talk. My entourage circulated through the room, chatting with the hangers-on attached to the other representatives. Eventually, though, it was time for things to get serious. I returned to my side of the table, my people arrayed behind me, while everybody else gathered on the other side.

The ongoing chatter of conversation faded to a light buzz, then to total silence. The Prime Minister looked around to confirm that he had everybody's attention before clearing his throat and opening the meeting.

"We've discussed the current difficulties in light of your statement yesterday. I believe we've settled the principal points between ourselves to everybody's satisfaction," he said. "Here, you can read the summary for yourself."

He slid a piece of paper across the table. I flipped it around so that I could read it, making sure to angle it so that the others could read it over my shoulder. The contents were rather straightforward.

Germania was to demilitarize the Rhineland. All military structures west of the Rhine or within fifty miles to the east of the Rhine were to be destroyed, and no new structures were to be built.

Germania was forbidden from developing heavy bombers.

Germania was restricted in building a navy in accordance with my discussion with Mr. Lloyd.

Germania was to renounce all extra-territorial claims and affirm the current borders.

Germania was forbidden from entering military alliances with any of the other Imperial successor states.

Germania was to release any foreign military prisoners to their country of origin.

Germania was to normalize relations with the Republic of Francois, extending all diplomatic courtesy to its chosen ambassador.

Other than as spelled out in the new treaty, the restrictions of Triano were rescinded. Germania could build an army and air force according to its own judgment, owed no reparations payments, and could enter into trade agreements with the other Imperial successor states.

The terms were generous. Astoundingly so. It also made no mention of my future. I could feel my heartbeat pick up at the implication.

I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. They wouldn't offer terms like this and then demand my execution. And the Francois couldn't possibly tolerate my continued occupation of the chancellorship. My future was no doubt to be determined in a side agreement, just as the various financial arrangements made by the Unified States would be.

I studied the faces of the men seated across the table. The Francois ambassador looked like he had smelled something unpleasant. Mr. Johnston looked pleased with himself, as always. The Legadonian big shot looked like he was just happy not to be the focus of attention, while the Prime Minister looked perfectly content with how things were going.

"So I'm to tell my people that I've abandoned their brethren in Alsace-Lorraine?" I asked. My goals were twofold. First, to at least make a token effort at bargaining. Second, to offer the Prime Minister an easy opportunity to correct the mistaken assumption about my future role.

"Some brethren, taken into the Empire by force and-" the Francois ambassador began, more than a little heat in his voice, before the Prime Minister cut him off.

"We think it's in the best interests of peace, stability, and international cooperation," he said, "for national borders to be fixed and not be subject to change by force of arms."

"The Empire felt the same way after the last Treaty of Londinium," I replied, "but I suppose that's your prerogative as the victor."

Damn it, they really were intent on giving away the store. Appeasement was the order of the day. Which meant that anything that went wrong in Europe would all be my fault from now on, at least according to the history books and any post-war tribunals.

I wanted to scream at them all and storm out of the room. But how could I? This was a chance to get my voters everything they wanted. If I wasted this chance, they'd burn me in effigy in Berun. In effigy, if I was lucky.

There was nothing for it but to smile and sign on the dotted line.

ooOoo

The atmosphere on board the Germanian ship had been tense and silent on the way to Londinium. On the way home, it was one big party. Neither situation was exactly to Visha's liking. She appreciated the happiness shared by all of her fellow countrymen, not to mention the camaraderie that developed as stuffy government officials got drunk together with off duty members of the ship's crew, but she was never one for wild parties.

That was probably why she was the only one who noticed that the hero of the hour was missing.

Visha had spent years by the side of Tanya von Degurechaff. First as a corporal, then as a lieutenant, and now as deputy chancellor. In all that time, one thing she had noticed was that her superior's mood often seemed to zig as others zagged. Then Major Degurechaff had been perfectly content fighting in the hell of the Rhine front day after day, only to be reduced to an emotional wreck as everybody else celebrated in the wake of the armistice established with the Francois.

So Visha wasn't surprised when she realized the chancellor wasn't in a celebratory mood. As a good subordinate, though, she couldn't stand by and let her leader spend the whole night brooding by herself.

Visha squared her shoulders and repeated that to herself a couple of times before she gathered the courage to knock on the door of the Chancellor's stateroom. There was no response. She knocked again. Still, there was no sound other than the strains of an old drinking tune drifting over from the party on the rear deck. She knocked a third time, and was finally rewarded with a slurred response.

"Go 'way."

Visha immediately opened the door. Inside, the Chancellor was perched on the small couch that marked the sitting area of her quarters, her shoulders slouched in a way that Visha had rarely seen. Several bottles of wine sat on the steamer trunk in front of her, along with a single half empty glass.

Visha stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She paused for just a moment to push down a sudden bout of nerves, then walked further into the room. The Chancellor's gaze followed her all the way, although she looked rather bleary eyed and seemed to sway in time with the motion of the ship. Visha finally came to a halt standing in front of the couch, close enough that she could almost taste the alcohol in the air. She wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands.

"What's wrong?"

Visha had followed Tanya von Degurechaff through military campaigns, political campaigns, and all the vagaries of day to day life that came with a shared living space. Despite all that, Visha found herself learning new things about the Chancellor all the time. Today's lesson, apparently, was that she was a maudlin drunk.

"We could, we could just take a couple of orbs and go, right? Fly away, stow away, just... away," the Chancellor said, stumbling over her words, but gradually building momentum. "Argentina. Argentina is warm, and safe. We'll have a villa. Raise horses, maybe."

Visha had never heard of a country called Argentina. But if the Chancellor said it was nice, then it was nice. Still, this didn't sound like a long held dream that the chancellor wanted to chase. It sounded more like somewhere she wanted to go in order to escape.

"Why run from Berun? The people love you."

"Now, maybe," the Chancellor scoffed, picking up the glass and slugging down the remaining wine in one go, "see how they feel when the Red Army comes marching in."

The Red Army, to the best of Visha's knowledge, was currently gathering in Siberia. The Russy Federation was gearing up for yet another attempt to push the Akitsushima Dominion off the mainland once and for all. Part of her ached at the inevitable loss of so many lives from the country of her birth, but she didn't see how the army was a threat to her adopted country.

"I don't think-"

"You were there at the meeting. What did you see?"

Visha blinked, taken aback by the sudden lucidity of the question. Even a drunken Tanya von Degurechaff was more intimidating than any of the instructors from officer candidate school.

Even after taking a minute to think about it, Visha couldn't think of anything to say but the obvious. "We got everything we could have wanted?"

"Appeasement! Rank appeasement," the Chancellor said, snatching at a wine bottle for emphasis. She missed, but took hold of it on the second try, refilling her glass before continuing. "Today they sell out the Francois to placate us, tomorrow they'll sell us out to the reds. They won't protect us."

"Didn't you used to say that the Allied Kingdom wouldn't tolerate a hegemon?"

"Some day they might carve out a country to occupy the same spot on the map," the Chancellor replied, pausing to take another drink, "but what will be left after the commies have the run of the place for so long?"

That was a chilling thought. Visha had heard stories of the horrors taking place in her homeland. She still held out hope for a counter-revolution that could return the country to a sane system of government, but part of her had always feared that Russy had already been changed beyond recognition.

"Can't we hold them off on our own?"

"It's too much. Look at the map. Too much space," the Chancellor said, gesturing with the hand holding the glass and ignoring the wine that slopped over the edge, "too many tanks, too many guns, too many men. Barbarossa is an idiot's dream. I'm no genius but even I know, we can't hold back the red tide."

Over the years, Visha had learned to adapt to her superior's habit of strange thinking and strange terminology. Way back when she was following Lieutenant Degurechaff around in the Rhine, she had decided: she would do her best to understand what the Lieutenant told her to do, so she could do as the Lieutenant wished; when she didn't understand, she would follow orders anyway. That habit had served her well throughout her time at the Chancellor's side.

Still, the whole idea of shrinking from a fight didn't seem like something Visha ever would have heard from Lieutenant Degurechaff, Major Degurechaff, or Chancellor Degurechaff. Visha wondered if she was too drunk to even realize what she was saying. "You want to run away?"

Much to her shock, her question didn't bring an immediate unequivocal denial. Instead, silence hung heavy in the air for a long moment.

"The Francois hate me. The commies hate me. The Unified States and the Allied Kingdom are nervous about me. God hates me. I can't- I can't," Tanya said, her voice breaking. She looked down, refusing to make eye contact. "If I leave, at least somebody else has a chance to sort things out."

Visha felt her own heart sink. She could only curse herself for her own shortsightedness. Tanya had always cared deeply for the people under her command. She should have realized that as that number expanded from the 48 members of the 203rd to the millions of people of Germania, the burden Tanya felt would increase accordingly. It was too much for any one person to shoulder by themselves. Even the seemingly indestructible Chancellor Degurechaff.

Still, the idea that anybody else would do a better job was pure wine-soaked foolishness.

Visha cleared a space for herself to sit on the steamer trunk. She made sure to keep eye contact as she placed her hands on Tanya's shoulders.

"I remember you told me, back on the Rhine, the way to handle a large problem is to break it down into smaller problems."

"So?" Tanya said, mulish.

"So you have time. You don't have to fix everything all at once. The Russy Federation just declared another war in the east not long ago," Visha said. "It will take them a long time to turn back west. You might even have to face an election before an invasion."

Something she said got through to her friend. It was like a jolt of electricity had run through her. Tanya leaped to her feet, shedding the shroud of alcohol and defeatism like it had never been there to begin with.

"An election! You're right, you're absolutely right," Tanya said, raising her arms in triumph. "Visha, I could kiss you!"

Visha's heart sped up at the shock of the sudden movement. Before she had a chance to gather herself, she was hit with an entirely different shock as Tanya toppled backwards onto the couch. Fortunately, her fears were dispersed before they had a chance to properly form as a loud snore echoed through the room.

She chuckled to herself, happy to have navigated a treacherous conversation to arrive at a familiar situation. As a faithful adjutant, she had put in more than her fair share of time cleaning up after the Chancellor.

The couch was small, but it was still large enough for the Chancellor to sleep on with leg room to spare. There was no need to carry her to the bed. Visha instead spent a little time arranging her in a more comfortable sleeping position, then retrieved a blanket from the bed to keep her warm.

She then turned to the wine, discovering with a wry smile that only one of the bottles had been opened, and that bottle was still a quarter full. She stowed the still sealed bottles away, then retrieved the glass that the chancellor had tossed aside in her excitement. Fortunately, it had been mostly empty at the time. Visha felt a little guilty at leaving the stain for some unfortunate sailor to scrub out, but not guilty enough to do it herself.

She poured herself a glass of wine and sat back down on the steamer trunk as she took a sip, savoring the warmth of the alcohol as it settled in her chest. She didn't mind keeping watch, at least for a little while.