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Taking the train to Dacia took longer than flying there under my own power. The view wasn't as good, either. On the other hand, the reception waiting for me at the end of the journey was much friendlier on this, my second trip to the country.

Dacia had been hit hard by the recent global economic troubles. It hadn't boasted a particularly strong economy to begin with, so when global markets began to slow down Dacia was put in a precarious position.

The world as a whole wasn't calling the current situation a Great Depression, but it was probably just a matter of time. The Unified States had imposed heavy tariffs shortly after my reelection. Along with the retaliatory tariffs from most of Europe, they had really done a number on international trade. The Francois Republic had seen a few bank runs recently, and even Albion's financial markets were looking shaky after the last few turbulent months.

Germania's economic outlook, on the other hand, was surprisingly good. I had negotiated with the Unified States for protection against tariffs intending simply to preserve our market share. The end result had gone beyond that, as Germanian manufacturing had surged on a rush of American orders. It made sense, on reflection, that having our closest competitors priced out of the market would redound to our benefit. Also, the steady increase in the value of the dollar due to deflation made our exports that much more attractive.

All in all, Germania was in a good position to exert some so-called "soft power." Well, perhaps that's too grandiose. Rather, Germania was in a position where I could dangle the prize of access to our market to buy our way out of being a pariah state. It seemed a little unfair that I was the one who had to make nice with a country like Dacia when they had launched an unprovoked invasion of my homeland, but I had after all killed a lot of their soldiers and set off a pretty sizable explosion in their capital.

Anyways, the diplomatic work had already been done. My personal visit to the country was largely for the purposes of public relations. A sort of goodwill tour. I'd only wind up getting some actual work done if I was lucky.

The terms of the agreement were symmetrical on their face, but it was obvious that Dacia stood to gain far more than we did from the lowering of trade barriers, just as Germania stood to benefit more than the Unified States in our other major trade deal. We had also agreed to commit to purchase a substantial quantity of oil immediately and then also over the next few years at a generous price. Dacia needed the cash infusion and Germania was going through more oil than ever thanks to the growing adoption of the automobile.

I shook myself out of my thoughts as the train gradually slowed to a halt. The local police kept the platform clear as I disembarked with my small entourage. I was gradually getting used to the VIP treatment, although to be honest I mostly just ignored that sort of thing. Still, it was strange to hear our footsteps echo as we made our way towards the station hall. Anna, Elya's promising subordinate, walked on my right hand side, while the two mages on security duty trailed behind.

Another police officer held open the door, and I entered to a round of applause from the waiting crowd. It made sense, as the broad strokes of the trade deal had been released to the public and the deal was in their favor. Still, I hadn't been expecting it. I paused for a moment to take a look around.

It was the little anachronisms that still caught me off guard sometimes, even after twenty-four years in my new life. For example, the idea that train stations should be built to impress, as they were usually the first thing a visitor would see on arriving at a new city. Even in a backwater like Dacia, the capital city's train station was an architectural tour de force. High arching ceilings, honest to goodness stained glass windows, and, of course, plenty of space for the teeming masses to pack in and crane their necks at the visiting celebrity.

The fake smile I had plastered on my face was starting to feel uncomfortable. Fortunately, it didn't take me too long to spot our ambassador to Dacia, standing together with a local official. I made my way over and shook hands, to another round of applause, before the lot of us headed outside.

I was treating this trip as something of a vacation, and the Dacians hadn't begrudged me the extra time spent in their country. The first part-day was to be spent as a somewhat high-profile tourist. My meeting with the Prime Minister and the ceremonial signing of the trade deal would take place on the second day, while I wouldn't depart until the afternoon of the third.

The tour of the city was quite pleasant. I had mostly been looking forward to some time to relax, but the capital was surprisingly full of examples of picturesque old buildings. In part, it was probably due to the relatively light damage Dacia had suffered as a result of the war. However, I suspected that a larger reason for the plethora of quaint construction was the country's moribund economy.

My suspicions were bolstered by a closer look around the streets we were passing through. Sure, there was the occasional automobile, but most of the traffic was propelled by the power of horses rather than horsepower. What's more, the limousine we had been provided, while quite luxurious, was an Albionese model. If the shoe were on the other foot, I couldn't imagine squiring visitors around in anything but a product of Germanian industry.

I went to bed that evening with a smile. I had enjoyed a relaxing afternoon, and I had reason to believe that my appeal would find fertile ground.

The next day I shook hands with the prime minister and smiled for the cameras. The two of us used a ceremonial set of pens to sign the trade deal, then handed them off to be stored away for safekeeping. With one last wave to the crowd, the prime minister invited me back to his office for a private conversation.

When the door shut behind me, I felt a grin trying to appear on my face. The straightforward, ceremonial portion of my visit was over. What remained was the part of the trip that could make or break the future of both of our countries. My shoulders relaxed as an echo of the old pre-battle calm came over me, and I had to make a conscious effort not to call up a defensive shell with the computation orb in my pocket.

The prime minister, for his part, didn't say anything at first. He busied himself with the serving set positioned along the back wall of the room, pouring each of us a cup of coffee. I nodded in thanks as I took my cup from him, noting in passing that we both seemed to prefer it straight. I took a sip as he took a seat behind his desk.

"Chancellor," he said, setting his cup down and interlacing his fingers, "I don't believe you took the time to come here yourself because you wanted a tour of the city."

I set my own cup of coffee down on his desk and took a seat on his guest chair. I cocked my head to the side and took a moment to size him up before I replied.

"Have you ever considered that our countries might benefit from a closer relationship?"

"Closer..." he said, trailing off. Then the penny dropped. "You mean a military alliance."

He didn't seem particularly shocked by the idea. He didn't seem particularly enthusiastic, either.

I nodded. "Purely defensive, of course."

"Our territorial integrity has been guaranteed by the Francois Republic and the Allied Kingdom," he said. "Why should I throw away that protection?"

I had expected a reply along those lines. On the face of things, Dacia's safety was guaranteed by the two premier European powers from the victorious side of the War to End All Wars. It was hard to imagine a more secure position. Of course, digging into the details of the situation would turn up some causes for concern.

"A fair question. I suppose I've always felt that the best security is provided by your own troops," I said. "As I recall, Dacia could field an army of 600,000 men. A formidable force, if it were properly trained and equipped. Have your guarantors done anything to help you modernize your army?"

He looked down, briefly, then took a sip of coffee rather than reply. We both knew the answer. While Albion may have offered up some arms that were better than the antiques that Dacia had issued to its troops in the last war, the powers that be had no interest in providing Dacia with any truly modern weapons.

"Besides your own strength, the best security is a friend who shares your peril," I said, choosing not to belabor the previous point. "Germania stands in the way of Comrade Jughashvili's dream of dominating Europe, just as you stand in the path of his Balkan ambitions."

If there was a better foundation for friendship than a shared hatred and fear of a third party, I had never found it.

"What do you want?" he asked.

I smiled. I was past the first hurdle. Now that we had set aside matters of principle, the only thing left was to negotiate a price.

"When the Red Army turns its attention back west, I don't want them to see any easy pickings," I said. "I'm sure you've caught wind of our dealings with our sister states."

I hadn't gone out of my way to publicize our cooperation with the former Imperial states bordering the Russy Federation, but cooperation on that level was impossible to hide. Especially from neighbors with a sharp interest in what was going on.

"You're building an iron cordon," he said, realization dawning on his face. "To contain the Rus."

"More or less," I said, nodding. "I'm not looking for a client state or a bargaining chip. I want an ally who can stand shoulder to shoulder and do his part to fight off the reds."

The cold hard fact was that I would like to have Dacians doing some amount of fighting and dying in any future conflict with the commies in order to take the pressure off of Germania. For all that, though, I wanted them to kill as many commies as possible with as few losses as possible, and I did genuinely want them to fight and win. I figured that made me a better friend than Albion or the Francois.

I wasn't the only politician who could rattle her saber for political effect. If the Russy Federation kicked up enough fuss, it wouldn't surprise me to see the western Europeans throw Dacia to the bear in order to secure another few years of peace for themselves.

"What are you offering, exactly?"

I smiled. Time to reel him in.

"Full access to our military catalog, purchases to be made on the same basis as the Germanian army," I said. "Training officers, available at the cost of their salary. That's in addition to the usual provisions of mutual defense, of course."

It was a generous offer. Most first rate nations wouldn't simply sell off their cutting edge military gear. However, I was willing to do whatever it took to get Dacia up to scratch. Or at least to quickly advance them to the point where they could present more than a speedbump to the Red Army. It wasn't like Germania benefited much from Dacia remaining a total backwater. Also, the cutting edge was always moving forward.

Perhaps it was arrogant, but I wasn't worried about Dacia keeping pace with our military development in the long run.

I could sense that he was tempted by the offer, though he did an admirable job of playing things cool. He took a moment to think before he asked his next question.

"Could these purchases be made on credit?"

"We can be reasonable. I think you'd find a credit line secured by your oil reserves could go quite far," I said. "Speaking of which, if we were military allies, our government would also be willing to invest in some infrastructure improvements. For example, a pipeline from Prahova to southern Germania could increase exports and reduce the cost of transportation."

"A generous offer," he said.

"In addition, the People's Car project has just broken ground on a second factory in light of the increased demand. However, the local area can only support a certain level of activity," I said. "As they scout locations for any future expansion, they will naturally prefer to build in friendly nations."

One problem with essentially buying an ally was that they might jump ship or even stab us in the back when presented with a better offer. There was no perfect guarantee against such a thing, but I hoped that tying our economies together would naturally pull our foreign policy preferences to point in the same direction.

For a moment I could see the light of greed shining in the Prime Minister's eyes. Then his expression smoothed out as he got himself under control.

"Even so," he said, "this isn't something I can decide right now."

"I understand. You can speak with our ambassador if any questions come up after I've left," I said, standing up and shaking his hand. "I look forward to hearing from you."

As expected, he wanted to sound out Albion and the Francois and see if he could get a better deal. I wasn't worried. When it came to this kind of contest, the Francois couldn't outbid us and Albion wouldn't care enough to bother. If he came back to try to get us to sweeten the deal, that was fine too.

The important thing was to secure some allies to help us face the dangerous world. The Empire had only had subjects and enemies. I had no intention of falling into the same trap.

ooOoo

My Foreign Minister wasn't quite as excited as I was with my success. I had dropped by his office before returning to my own in order to deliver the news. I was a little disappointed to be met with furrowed brow instead of a path on the back.

"Is Dacia worth this much trouble?" Zettour asked. "It would be easier just to raise another field army of our own. Cheaper, too."

I could understand his skepticism. Dacia hadn't exactly covered itself in glory during the last war.

"Don't underestimate the value of having friends," I said. "The drain from subduing smaller powers certainly hurt the Empire's war machine."

It was true that no matter how much effort we put in, Dacia would never be able to turn back a truly determined Russite invasion. With our help, though, they could be a real thorn in the Russy Federation's side. If we maintained our distance from Dacia, I couldn't see things ending any other way than with them as a pliant satellite of the Federation.

After experiencing the death of a thousand cuts with the Empire during the last war, I was keen on the idea of inflicting that kind of suffering on the commies during the next war.

Zettour nodded, acknowledging the point.

"Besides which, keeping our access to their oil is only going to be more important as time goes by," I said. "Not to mention denying the same oil to the Rus."

Really, the only thing more satisfying than securing a resource for myself was plucking it from the hands of communists.

"Fair enough," Zettour replied. "I hope it's worth it."

"You worry about wooing Dacia," I said. "I'll worry about the costs and benefits."

Honestly, with the world's economy in an ongoing deflationary mess, it was practically my duty to spend the government's money like water. Not to mention that any money spent subsidizing Dacian arms purchases would wind up back in Germanian pockets at the end of the day. Really, though, I thought he was unfairly discounting the symbolic value of securing a real ally, however bought and paid for.

It still felt unnatural to be giving orders to Zettour. He accepted with good grace though, simply nodding in acquiescence before I took my leave.

I found an unpleasant surprise waiting for me on my desk. Besides the expected correspondence, I also found a copy of the New Amsterdam Times waiting for me, dated a little over a week ago. From the looks of things, our ambassador had sent it over shortly after publication, but the paper had arrived while I was in Dacia. It was folded open to the editorial page, where one headline jumped out at me.

Germanian Invasion Force Reaches Our Shores

A quick perusal of the article revealed a jeremiad that was impressive in its vitriol, if nothing else. Apparently, the People's Car was a product of "the Devil's Workshop" that was the vanguard of an insidious plan to undermine American manufacturing. Its low price and innocuous appearance hid a threat to everything Americans held dear. In order to preserve the dignity of the American worker-not to mention baseball, apple pie, and the Constitution-it was imperative that the Unified States revoke its trade treaty with Germania and subject Germanian goods to heavy tariffs.

The editorial's author was more impressive than the content of its reasoning. William Durand, the head of the conglomerate that, put together, made up America's second largest car manufacturer. I thought his writing was nothing more than obviously self-serving nonsense aimed to rile up public opinion against a competitor. However, I couldn't discount the influence of Durand's reputation. Arguments that left me cold might be more moving when read by somebody more sensitive to Durand's standing in the community. For all I knew, there could be angry mobs protesting outside of the People's Car dealership every day.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't bother to respond to something so banal. Every day there were no doubt many people upset by Germanian competition. However, when it came to our relationship with the Unified States, I felt that I couldn't be too careful. I set the paper down on my desk and stepped out of my office to talk to Elya.

"Have we heard anything recently from our man in America?"

"I don't think so," Elya said, before rifling through the files stored in her desk drawer. "No, nothing since that awful editorial. I can't believe how much nonsense gets printed in American papers."

I smiled, thinking of some of the things that had been printed in our own newspaper about the Francois. Patriotism could put blinders on even the most observant person.

"Send him a cable. I'd like to know how that editorial was received over there."

She nodded and took a note. I also grabbed the folder with the recent records from the People's Car company. Of course, I didn't involve myself in the company's day to day operations, but they made sure to send us regular copies of their internal documents. I figured I might as well go over the figures to see if they could shed some light on the situation while I waited to hear back from our ambassador.

The documents showed a steady increase in sales over time. I would have expected to see one or two sales, followed by a lot of nothing, but in the face of a depression it appeared even Americans would succumb to the allure of a cheap car. There was a sudden jump in sales following the imposition of tariffs on the rest of Europe. After that, the slow increase in sales resumed. The editorial had been printed last week. Ordinarily the sales results wouldn't be reported so quickly, but there was a note in the file stating that the American dealership had requested an early, jumbo-sized resupply.

That was odd. If sales had increased along their previous trajectory, the stock on hand should have lasted for the rest of the month. The only explanation would be if Durand's editorial had somehow increased sales.

I smiled ruefully as the penny dropped. In my last life, how many times had I heard from some meatheads in sales that there was no such thing as bad publicity? Now that I thought about it, in the modern era it was common for smaller companies to try to pick fights with their larger competitors, or even with completely uninvolved celebrities. They'd try anything, just to get people's attention.

I shook my head and set the reports to the side. I knew what Elya was going to say even as she came bundling into the room.

"The reply came from America," she said. "He says nobody seemed to care."

Of course. I could say quite a bit about the American system of government, but it did have its own sort of fairness. William Durand wasn't the cousin of a king, able to have his desires turned into government policy just by asking. If he wanted influence, he would have to buy it, just like anybody else. Buying enough influence to convince Congress to anger every farmer in America by cutting off their access to the Germanian grain market was more than even he could afford.

"He did say that he can try to reach out and placate Mr. Durand if you like," Elya continued.

"Absolutely not. That would be a terrible waste," I said. "I need you to send an order over to the People's Car project."

She nodded, pen at the ready.

"Tell them that they need to increase the number of units allocated to the Unified States," I said. "Also, tell them to hire an American ad agency to market the controversy."

"Market the controversy?"

"Run ads proclaiming our cars are such a bargain that the competition wants to make them illegal," I said, waving my hand. "That kind of thing."

I didn't like to meddle in the running of the company. I had enough of my own tasks to deal with even without trying to micromanage anybody else. Now that something like this had been brought to my attention, though, I thought the project could use a little injection of future knowledge.

"Won't Mr. Durand attack us again?"

"If we're lucky!" I said. "Thousands and thousands of Americans who had never heard of the People's Car have just been introduced to it by Mr. Durand, touting its scandalously low price. Even more will take notice if he speaks up again."

"I see," she said. "How clever!"

I shook my head. "Americans take this stuff in with their mother's milk. That's why I want them running the ad campaign."

While I appreciated Elya's loyalty, I had to keep an eye on her tendency to overpraise my actions. If I didn't have such a grounded, reasonable personality, I would have long ago lost touch with the thoughts of the common man.

ooOoo

The barrier I was attempting to build on the Russy Federation's western border would be incomplete until I could convince the Legadonia Entente to sign on. Unfortunately, they were not going to be as easy to approach as Dacia had been. Legadonia was a major regional power in its own right. Not a great power on par with the Allied Kingdom or the old Empire, but only a notch below.

I couldn't offer them much by way of military technology, and if I did they'd be too proud to take it. During the war they had only been half a step or so behind the Empire. Their relative weakness lay in their smaller population and accordingly smaller armed forces, rather than their practical know-how.

Economically, it was much the same. They weren't suffering nearly as badly as Dacia from the recession, and they weren't particularly interested in exploring a trade arrangement with Germania. Instead, their efforts were focused on roping Daneland into their orbit, so far to little seeming effect.

They also were far less nervous about their own security. While the Allied Kingdom's security guarantees to Dacia were little more than words on paper, Legadonia could rest assured that the Allied Kingdom would step in if the Russy Federation tried a northern invasion. After all, they'd already exerted themselves to free Legadonia from the domination of the Empire. Past considerations aside, the geography alone dictated that the Allied Kingdom take serious note of any major power that tried to muscle in on Legadonia.

Also, setting all of the logical factors aside, Legadonia seemed to bear more of a grudge towards the Empire, and towards me, personally, over the course of the war. I still thought it was ridiculous for them to blame me for impeding their efforts to invade my homeland, but I had grown inured to a certain amount of irrationality.

There was no denying that their scars ran deep. Dacia had suffered a humiliating defeat, but it was quick and relatively bloodless. Legadonia had suffered through years of bitter fighting. Their ability to punch nearly up to the Empire's level had prolonged the war, extending the time of operation of the meat grinder that was trench warfare. And then, after all that effort, I had kicked in the back door and opened the way to Osfjord, rendering all of their struggles meaningless.

All things considered, I supposed it wasn't too surprising that they were still upset.

Still, I kept chipping away with repeated diplomatic overtures. It took another couple of months of effort, but they finally agreed to allow a visit. They still weren't interested in striking an agreement of any kind with Germania, but they were at least willing to allow me to step foot on their soil in the spirit of reconciliation. It did cross my mind that they might intend to do something dramatic to have their revenge, but I didn't think they were that reckless. Even so, I made doubly sure to pack my computation orb for the trip.

Other matters had been proceeding smoothly. Zettour's efforts to woo Dacia were slowly but surely coming to fruition. There were only a few details to iron out before the Germanian Republic could announce its first official military alliance. In domestic affairs, Germania's economy was still humming along. I was starting to think that we might dodge the depression entirely. No matter how strictly rational I might be, though, even I didn't dare to jinx things by expressing that thought out loud.

The People's Car had seen a dramatic and sustained increase in sales to the Unified States. The vast majority of our cars were still sold in Germania and we held only a tiny sliver of the American market, but it was still far more than I had ever expected. Now, when analysts made charts of the American market, the People's Car merited its own tiny slice of the pie rather than being folded into the "other" category.

All in all, it just went to show that even the most mediocre product could sell once a talented marketing team jumped in. It was starting to look like the initial government investment would be paid back more quickly than I had ever expected. I was looking forward to ending the government's entanglement with the private sector. Not to mention, I was also eager to bail out of the project before our run of luck in foisting the People's Car off on consumers finally ran out.

The invitation Legadonia finally deigned to send us was rather cold, truth be told. The right to step on Legadonian soil was extended to me and to me alone, while the suggested schedule of events barely stopped short of demanding that I leave the country before nightfall. Reconciliation had to start with compromise, though. I only pushed for a few details to be changed according to my preferences, otherwise allowing the Legadonians to dictate terms.

It would have been rather impolitic to fly to Legadonia under my own power. As a result, I was subjected to a firsthand experience of Germania's commercial aviation industry. To sum up my thoughts on the trip, I couldn't wait for the passenger jet to be invented.

Fortunately, my stomach was made of stern stuff after my wartime experience, so when we finally made landfall on a small airfield on the outskirts of Legadonia's capital, I was able to step out of the plane with a steady gait and a polite smile on my face. The waiting crowd barely reacted. Well, I could hardly expect cheers. Really, to refrain from booing and from throwing anything at me was probably the limit of what I could expect as far as the courtesy of my hosts.

The Councilor of Foreign Affairs was there to greet me and to usher me into the waiting car. After exchanging greetings, we began to sound each other out. He seemed unmoved by my warnings about the communist menace, instead preferring to broach the subject of Daneland. I repeated what had long been my position on the matter: Daneland's neutrality was a benefit to both of our nations. Rearranging Germania's naval bases had been annoying, but the work was done and I was happy to have a neighbor who was not inclined to march their army out over minor border disputes.

I didn't share that last opinion, but the Councilor still wasn't happy. I didn't have much sympathy for him. I had largely been ignoring Daneland and Legadonia's efforts to seduce them into the Entente, which was favor enough on the geopolitical stage. I could hardly be expected to push Daneland into his arms after he had failed to win them over. In any event, we arrived at our destination before we could discuss anything in depth.

I followed behind the Councilor as he exited the car. The two of us were soon standing in front of a memorial for the Legadonian soldiers who had died during the Great War. I kept my head down and my eyes fixed on the wreath that one of the Councilor's aides had given me, spending a moment in thought.

The Legadonians might not believe it, but I truly did regret the deaths caused by the war. It was a senseless waste of human resources. Even if the Legadonian soldiers had been trying to kill me, it wasn't as if they had chosen the war. It was their leadership who was responsible for what had happened. As always, it was politicians who created a mess, and soldiers who fought and died as a result.

When the moment of silence passed I set my wreath on the memorial without reservation, hoping that I could avoid causing such a wasteful loss of life in my own role as a political leader. The constant clicking of the media's cameras disturbed the solemnity of the moment, but that was an inescapable component of what was supposed to be a public ceremony of healing.

I was less sanguine about the next monument we visited. This was a memorial for the deceased members of the Legadonian resistance. The resistance had coalesced as the war ground on. The Imperial occupation had grown harsher as time passed, while the Imperial garrison had been stretched thin by the need for soldiers elsewhere. It was inevitable that some sort of resistance would pop up. Still, the men involved had been little better than brigands and murderers. They ignored the laws of war and the laws of peace, and I considered their deaths to be both appropriate and effectively self-inflicted.

Unfortunately, diplomacy demanded that I keep my opinion to myself. I gritted my teeth, held my silence, and placed my wreath at the appointed spot.

The final spot on our memorial tour had been included at my insistence. Also at my insistence, there was no media present as the Councilor and I slipped out of sight, transferred to a nondescript automobile, and proceeded to the military cemetery located in the neighboring town.

The simple layout of the cemetery made it easy to find the plot that I was looking for. We came to a halt, the Councilor hovering nervously at my elbow while I studied the simple grave marker in front of me.

Mary Sue.

I'd been too out of it to notice at the time, but there had been quite the low-key international to-do after her death. She had never fought under the banner of Legadonia, so she was technically unqualified to be interred in their military cemetery. On the other hand, the Unified States had only tolerated her in order to have a weapon to point at me. With the war over, the Americans wanted nothing to do with her remains. In the end, the Legadonia Entente had elected to make an exception and bury her next to her father.

It was easier to be gracious when her trademark collateral damage hadn't killed hundreds of your troops.

I wasn't sure what I had been expecting. I didn't feel any anger at revisiting an old foe. It was hard to carry on a grudge against someone long dead. Nor was I feeling any particular satisfaction. Not after I had been forced to such a humiliating extreme in the end.

Instead, I found myself experiencing a sort of quiet melancholy. There was only one other person in the world who had first hand experience with Being X's manipulative ways, and the absurd reality of war had forced us to duel to the death.

In our first encounter, she hadn't particularly stood out. A skilled rookie who survived where much of her flight didn't. I only learned about that first battle because I had gone back and looked it up after our later encounters.

By the second time we fought, Being X had his hooks in her. Her magical ability had increased greatly, as had her thirst for blood. She still had the capacity for rational thought, but not nearly as much interest in using it. I suppose it was a fair trade from her perspective for the ability to go toe to toe with the Type 95. As time went on, the effects of whatever bargain she had made with Being X became more and more pronounced.

I sometimes wondered, if I hadn't kept my memories but just my personality, whether I would have made much heavier use of the Type 95. The euphoria of channeling that much power was better than any drug I knew of, not to mention the practical utility. I'd like to think that I would have noticed something amiss before I was molded into a mindless crusader, but it was hard to say for sure.

Even if I had kept my memories, if I had never met that bastard Being X, I might have been willing to praise a hypothetical god with such a payoff as my reward.

There but for Being X's lack of grace, go I.

I thought she figured it out, in the end. When I had finally knuckled under and offered a sincere prayer to Being X, it didn't just increase the power available to me. The magical power she was using dropped almost immediately to a more human level. I thought I saw a glimmer of understanding in her eyes in that moment. I would have liked to ask her about it, but by that point I had already committed to the attack that would vaporize her upper body and redraw a few obscure alpine maps.

Years of devotion, and Being X tossed her aside like an old toy once she'd served her purpose.

I sighed. Next to me, the Councilor startled, then cleared his throat.

"Chancellor?"

"God can lift someone from obscurity and fix her in the heavens," I said. "And God can knock her down from the pinnacle to bury her in the mud."

I had long since submitted to the necessity of referring to Being X by his chosen name with other people. I still chafed at the indignity.

The Councilor was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was tentative.

"Do you think the Great War was part of God's plan?"

He just about jumped out of his skin when my initial response was a bitter laugh.

"I think that when humans make plans that rely on God's backing to succeed," I said, "we're capable of creating quite enough trouble on our own."

The Legadonia Entente had decided to get into a military pissing match with the Empire. In turn, the Empire had decided not to seek any serious peace negotiations until after it had defeated every foreign army on the planet. Each nation was implicitly relying on divine intervention in order to succeed. Loathe as I was to admit it, the ensuing misery could not be laid on the shoulders of Being X. He hadn't done anything. The fault lay with the idiotic human beings who thought that Being X would cover for their own inadequacy.

Human flourishing was grounded in rational consideration and sober decision making. Pray to be spared from flood? Absolutely not! Build levees, or change the course of the river if need be. In matters of life and death, it was madness to try to court Being X's favor.

I would leave that to others, while I focused my efforts on building a foundation for success on the basis of rational thinking that would be sufficiently resilient to withstand one of Being X's temper tantrums.