The “necessary evils” referred to a series of identity and security checks of every person and his or her luggage. The Arcadians had received advanced notice of the names of those coming in the delegation and first ascertained that everyone matched their dossiers.
Mae’s picture and name were accurate, but she’d been given a fabricated bio to hide her true profession. According to the records the Arcadians had, she was a professional pianist. In Mae’s eyes, that was a generous estimate of her musical abilities, but she could understand that her people would fabricate a background with some connection to reality, and she had studied music in her tertiaries.
The Arcadians merely glossed over the bios, however, and put their main effort into searching the Gemman military who were staying in the country. Atticus had explained that the Gemman soldiers could bring arms that they’d be allowed to carry at certain times—which he’d read as “never.” And as Mae watched the Gemmans turn over their weapons, she could understand why they’d chosen to bring out-of-date models. No one wanted to give the Arcadians a tactical edge by letting them study advanced weaponry while it was in their “safekeeping.” It made Mae a little uneasy to know their party was unarmed, but that was to be expected. Even with their weapons, their soldiers were
outnumbered. It was up to her and the other praetorians, who were weapons in and of themselves, to handle defense if needed.
Once the soldiers were cleared, the Arcadians did a more thorough check of the Gemman diplomats and “concubines,” scanning them with both metal detectors and physical pat-downs. Mae had a moment of fear that they’d pick up her implant on their scanners, but, as she’d been assured in the RUNA, the implant was buried too deeply in her arm and contained a small enough amount of metal to slip by. Her knife, however, was a different matter.
“What’s this?” demanded the Arcadian soldier who pulled it from her boot. The Arcadians spoke English with an accent that drew the vowels out more than the Gemman dialect did.
“Mine,” she said, momentarily stunned.
“Why would a woman need a knife like this?” he demanded.
“Actually,” said Justin, moving to her side. “It’s mine. I gave it to her.”
The soldier turned his incredulous gaze on Justin. “Same question.
Why would a woman need a knife like this? This is a weapon.”
Mae felt her heart clench, and the implant spun her up into flight-or-flight mode. They’re going to seize it, she thought in a panic. It’s my only guide to my niece, and they’re going to take it from me.
Justin, however, remained remarkably calm. Derisive, even.
“Why? For protection. Don’t think I didn’t see. You enjoyed that pat-down a little too much. I don’t want anyone coming near my woman if I’m not around. We haven’t even been here an hour, and you’re already leering over our women.”
Mae’s gut instinct was to chafe against “my woman,” but a wiser part of herself warned, Just stay still and be quiet. He’s getting you out of this.
And apparently he was. Mae hadn’t thought much of the pat-down, but the sudden crimson in the soldier’s face lent credence to Justin’s accusation. McGraw, having overheard the exchange, strode forward and took the knife from his soldier. “Here.” The general handed the knife to Justin. “You keep it, not her. Your women have nothing to fear while under our hospitality.” There was something in the tone of his voice that made Mae think that last statement was more for the
Arcadians under his command than the Gemmans.
“Thank you,” said Justin, slipping the knife into his coat as though he did it on a regular basis. When the attention was off them, Mae gave him a small nod of thanks that he returned in kind. The dagger was still accessible to her, at least.
When all the security checks were done to McGraw’s satisfaction, the soldiers from the base departed, and Mae’s party was truly on its own. She and the others were escorted onto a large, armored bus with narrow windows that reminded her of something used to transport prisoners. It had enough room for all of the Gemmans, as well as several armed Arcadian soldiers. McGraw came on board to see them off but wasn’t riding with them.
“It’s about three hours to Divinia,” he said. “These soldiers will make sure you arrive there safely for your welcoming festivities. It’s been a pleasure to meet you all, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.” With a curt salute to his men, he departed.
“Really?” murmured Val, sitting with Lucian in the seat in front of Mae and Justin. “That wasn’t the welcome? Can you imagine the media spectacle this would’ve been if the situation had been reversed, and we were receiving them? There’d be champagne fountains and dancing girls.”
“I’m sure they have plenty in store for us,” said Lucian pleasantly, never losing that camera-ready smile. But as Mae studied his profile, she could see the lines of tension and knew that no matter his glib talk, he was well aware of the possible danger if this trip went badly.
Keeping him as a hostage could be a powerful bargaining chip for the Arcadians, if they wanted to force something from the Gemmans. Mae wondered if that put the rest of them—who weren’t as important—in better or worse positions.
“That’s right,” said Justin, loudly enough for some nearby
Arcadian soldiers to overhear. “Rest up on this ride. I’m sure the hospitality and wonders of Divinia will be overwhelming.”
“Divinia,” repeated Mae. “Was that always its name?”
“No,” said Justin, making himself comfortable in the stiff seat.
“Before the Decline, it was called Birmingham.”
CHAPTER 9
Cultural Adjustments
Justin couldn’t help but keep thinking of Val’s comparisons of how things would have been different if it was an Arcadian delegation visiting the RUNA. She was right about the media spectacle. There would’ve been more journalists than the Arcadians had soldiers, documenting every mundane aspect imaginable, even before their guests’ feet hit the ground. No one would’ve been smuggled around in an armored bus, and while the Gemman security would have been just as thorough, they would’ve done so in a more discreet and tactful way.
We would parade them around, Justin thought, because we love novelty. That, and we love to feel superior, and every single eccentricity of theirs that could be shown on-air would serve as evidence for how much better we are than everyone else.
Are you saying you aren’t? asked Horatio.
Of course not, said Justin. Ours is the superior civilization. The Arcadians want their people to believe the same of their country, and their tactic is to do so by not offering—or showing—them any other options. Their media, such as it is, is highly censored. Whatever gets broadcast about us will be full of propaganda and make us out to look like the immoral country they think we are.
At least the Gemman media portrayed you pretty well, offered the raven.
It doesn’t matter, so long as something positive comes out of all of this diplomatically. That’s the point of it, Justin reminded him.
Horatio was skeptical of that proper response. I thought the point was to get on Mae’s good side.
Justin glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. They’d covered her up in that smock of a dress and hidden most of her hair under the hat, but there was still no concealing her beauty. She was on good behavior for the Arcadian soldiers, face serene and hands folded elegantly in her lap as she looked ahead. Her gaze seemed to be focused on nothing in particular, but Justin knew she was taking in every detail and braced to spring into action if needed. The praetorian women had been strictly told a number of times that in the event of an altercation, they were to participate only as a last resort if their uniformed countrymen were present. Justin wondered how well Mae and the other women would adhere to that. Following orders was second nature to them . . . but so was defending others.
Signs of urban civilization eventually began to show through the slitted windows. Buildings appeared and grew closer together, though their state of repair varied wildly. The roads smoothed out. Then, the scenery grew rural again as they passed out of the city proper, and the bumpy bus ride at last came to an end. The Gemman delegation was escorted out and found themselves standing in front of a wide, colonial estate house that was certainly among the nicer ones they’d passed. Its pillared porch was crowded with people, and despite the house’s upkeep and affluence, it didn’t exactly feel modern. Glancing around, Justin saw a number of other buildings on vast, dusty acreage and realized they must be at the compound that was hosting them, the one Atticus had shown them satellite images of. The people on the porch were mostly men, all in suits and wide-brimmed hats, and from their sweaty skin and clothing, they looked as though they’d been standing there for a while. All of the men in the front, on the porch’s steps, were Justin’s age or older. Those in the back were younger, some even children. Also in the back, slightly apart from the others, were about a dozen women, wearing the long dresses and hats favored by Arcadian women in public.
A portly man in his fifties, with thinning hair and a bushy white beard, took off his hat and stepped forward to shake hands with Atticus.
“Mr. Marley,” the man said, “it’s a pleasure to receive you at my home.”
“It’s a pleasure to be back in Arcadia,” returned Atticus warmly.
“And to be truly in Arcadia, not just skulking on the border in clandestine meetings. This is the kind of get-together we’ve needed for a long time, if we truly want to make progress.” He stepped back and ushered a politely-waiting Lucian forward. “Senator, may I present our host, Carl Carter, Director of the Committee of Foreign Affairs and Special Assistant to the President. Director Carter, this is Lucian Darling, senator now and possibly our future consul.”
“Just Carl will do.” Their Arcadian host vigorously shook Lucian’s hand and seemed sincere in his enthusiasm. “I’m delighted to welcome you on behalf of our president and show you our great country’s finest hospitality. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow when you tour the capital.
Tonight, we thought you’d like to rest a little outside the city.”
Lucian was in full show mode. “It’s an honor to be at your home, and I look forward to whatever you have to share with us.”
Everyone’s so polite and so happy to be here, Justin noted to himself. Listen to the word choice. Honor. Pleasure. Delighted. You’d never guess our two countries’ soldiers are constantly skirmishing along the border.
Would you prefer that here? asked Magnus.
No, said Justin. I’d prefer to be inside.
Even in early evening, the temperatures were high, the air hanging stagnant and humid around them. The bus had had nominal air conditioning, but there was nothing to protect them now from the heat as they stood in the dusty yard. The comfort of indoors seemed to be a ways off, however, as both sides went through formal introductions of their important officials. A number of the Arcadians were familiar to Justin from his briefings, and he mentally linked up these real-life faces to what he’d read in the bios. As they’d expected, none of the Gemman women were given introductions. Of the twelve Arcadian women, three were introduced as Carl’s wives, with another five being the head wives of other officials. That meant the four who weren’t introduced were Carl’s concubines, something Justin found staggering.
He’s got seven women. Should I be jealous? he asked the ravens.
After an assessment of the women, he decided he wasn’t. Carl’s youngest wife and one of the concubines were somewhat attractive, but the others were heavily marked by Cain.
Some of the Arcadians are jealous of your women, noted Horatio.
Justin had noticed that as well. The older officials had given the Gemman women once-overs, some of them clearly quite intrigued. But these men were disciplined enough and focused on the task at hand to do little more than that. The younger men, most of whom were Carl’s sons, were less subtle as they openly stared at Mae and the others. Carl hadn’t introduced any daughters-in-law, which Justin understood was quite common around here. The polygamous practices left a shortage of women, and most men couldn’t afford a wife until their mid-twenties, at least. The country’s religious dictates had strong stances against pre-marital (or pre-concubine) sex, and although Justin wasn’t naïve enough to believe it didn’t happen, it probably didn’t happen nearly as much as it should have.
If ever there was a group of guys who needed to get laid, it’s that one, Justin thought, watching as the young men shifted restlessly in the heat. This is a system ready to explode. The old men horde all the women for themselves. Some of Carl’s wives and concubines are younger than his sons.
The leaders of both groups made more speeches and posturing, and at last, Carl declared that everyone should come in for dinner.
Grinning broadly, he gestured his guests inside and then barked a sharp command to some of his sons.
“Their bags are in that second bus. Take them out to the guest houses.”
None of the sons protested outright, but the expression on their faces suggested this was an unexpected request. Carl flushed at the defiance.
“All the women are busy with supper,” he hissed. “Takes all of them to feed this many.”
“Why can’t their women do it?” asked the youngest of the sons, whom Justin guessed to be around fourteen or fifteen. The oldest looked to be about ten years older, and he lightly cuffed the youngster, aware that they had an audience.