Story:Pleasant Lodge & Lunch
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Summary
The Pleasant Lodge & Lunch is a small bay-side hotel and restaurant in the city of Brenji, located in the Portside district. Life happens therein.
Chapter 1: The End
572-8-24 —✾— 10:25
No constant is constant.
Jani Wiche is a privileged yet unsuccessful woman, burdened with the responsibility of managing the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, a hotel/restaurant which no·one has ever had any reason to sleep at. Unusually for the merchant dynasties of Brenji, the Wiche dynasty, which owns about 4% of the businesses within Brenji, has a long tradition of sexist discrimination. Three years ago, Jani's brother Jerica had been given an iron mine by Casi Wiche, a relative of theirs who was travelling to Framaja-Nayela and had no use for an iron mine. Jerica would later trade the iron for media training, so he could fulfil his ambition to one day be a voice on the then-newly-invented radio. Jani, of course, received nothing from Casi Wiche, and thus was stuck in Portside, Brenji's second-worst district, managing a hotel that no·one had any reason to visit.
Jani often spends her mornings gazing out the window at the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. There isn't much else she can do at the Lodge & Lunch, given the lack of customers. Through the windows, she has a full view of Brenjia Bay. The view is dull and grey. The only thing visible beyond the periphery of the sandy coast is the storm: a storm which has been raging for a long time. It has been raging for multiple years. It has been raging since before Jani was born. It has been raging since before the Federation united the islands half a century ago. It has been raging since before the fall of empires, and before their rise too. It has been raging for millennia. It has been raging since ancient times, and perhaps even before then. Some religious scholars would argue that it was raging before the island was present. This storm has lodged itself within the collective psyche, not just of Brenji, but of the entire Caseic Federation. You see, this storm is big: it doesn't just affect Brenjia Bay, but in fact completely surrounds the islands of Casea and Brisa. This storm has shaped the history, philosophy, religion, and even economy of the Federation. For a particular example, the storm is the main reason why the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch is as unsuccessful as it is: no sane human being would ever voluntarily travel to the storm-swept coasts of Brenji on holiday when the hotels up in the Great Caseic Mountains have a far more beautiful view and cost much less to book. Of course, this naturally raises the question of why the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch was founded in Brenji in the first place. You see, ten years ago, Jacaya Wiche, after falling asleep reading Framjist scriptures, dreamt that building a hotel on the coast of Brenjia Bay would fulfil a prophecy that—
"Miss, your tunic's unbuttoned."
Jani was so lost in thought, fascinated by the storm, that she didn't notice her misty rose tunic was unbuttoned. Now her assistant, Jifan Iri-Semswe, is awkwardly glaring at her unbuttoned tunic, almost as though she expects it to button itself. Jani awkwardly looks at Jifan's expression. Jifan is now aware of Jani's awareness of Jifan's awareness of Jani's unbuttoned tunic. Jani then notices that Jifan is aware of her awareness of— Jani blinks, then quickly buttons her tunic. Of course, this doesn’t really matter: the zero-customer morning clientèle does not care about the buttoning of tunics.
"Miss, you've been staring at the storm again."
"Oh, sorry Jifan. I-I was—"
"Miss, you've spent every morning like this for the past few weeks. Is something going on?"
"No, Jifan, I was just staring at the storm again. It's kind of beautiful in a way, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss, you've told me about the storm many times."
"It—"
"Yes, Miss, it's a giant storm that's shaped our cultures, theology, and methods of agriculture for thousands of years."
Jifan cared very little about the giant storm that shaped the cultures, theology, and agricultural methods of Casea and Brisa for thousands of years. She had more important things to do, like making sure that the kitchen was prepared to start cooking lunch. At the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, it's the Lunch which pays for the Lodge, since the food therein is pretty good. Or at least, it's as good as you can get in Brenji. That's the benefit of employing a non-religious chef: they don't have to follow those pesky rules about how to cook vegetables without violating the canons of the 237th Conclave of Framche. You see, thanks to the 238th Conclave of Framche, Framjists are still able to consume vegetables that weren't prepared in compliance with the canons of the 237th Conclave as long as they have no knowledge that said canons were violated. Hence, the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch can serve brilliant meals cooked with multitudinous spices, as long as the spices are inconspicuous specks whose existence can be safely ignored even by the most devout.
"Miss Jifan, why are you here? It's only 10:36."
Ebris Canoli, the non-religious chef in question, stands in front of the assistant with an unimposing stature, obstructing her path into the kitchen.
"Oh, hi Ebris. I was just checking that you've gotten the kitchen ready for today."
"Why would I have gotten the kitchen ready? It's not like that's my job or anything."
Jifan pauses, confused.
"So you have, or you haven't?"
"I haven't."
"Can you get it ready then?"
"I can."
"Will you?"
"I might."
"Then do so."
"Ok."
Ebris decides to stand in front of his superior, doing nothing.
"Now!"
Ebris continues to stand in front of Jifan, doing nothing. Well, nothing except breathing, standing, and being generally unimposing. Jifan pushes him aside and moves into the kitchen. She notices a small creature in the kitchen. Multiple, actually. And they've gotten into the spices. And the beans. This will not bode well for preparing lunch. At least the onions are unharmed.
"Have you seen this?"
Ebris turns around.
"Now I have."
"There is an unacceptable number of rats in here."
"I can see that."
"Will you do anything about it?"
"Not immediately."
"We've got to open shop in less than a couple of hours! Stop standing around and deal with the rats."
"Ok."
Ebris once again decides to stand in front of Jifan and do nothing about the rats. Jifan then leaves the kitchen, hoping to inform Jani about the rats. However, Jani is not in the reception of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. Jifan looks upstairs. She doesn't see Jani on any of the upper floors. Jifan looks out the window. The eternal storm rages on above the bay, blanketing the north and west of the sky in a dull grey. Jifan does not care about the storm, but does care about Jani's whereabouts. She scans the portion of coastline visible from the top floor, looking for Jani's misty rose tunic. She doesn't see it, and thus decides to head downstairs and out the back door. In the hierarchy of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, this means that Ebris is now in charge: his first decree is to declare it acceptable not to solve the rat problem. This declaration is silent, because it takes place entirely within the brain of Ebris Canoli and there are no telepaths nearby to hear it.
Wind starts blowing from the west. A handful of fish are picked up by the storm and flung upon the third-floor windows of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. They leave an oily residue, then flop onto the alternating uranian-celadon patterns of the canvas canopy. After a second or so, they slide down the canopy and onto the street in front of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. Ebris isn't yet aware of this: he's too busy ignoring the rat infestation.
In Portside Square, a few blocks north of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, Jani sits at the Square Cafe, drinking a chalice of Brenji Morning. Halfway through the chalice, Jifan finds her.
"Miss, what are you doing here? And why are you drinking that?"
"I have nothing better to do, and I have nothing better to do."
"Miss, please come back to the Lodge & Lunch. I need your authority."
"Can it wait until after I finish my drink?"
"Miss, it's—"
The Portside Square Clocktower enthusiastically tolls. Everyone nearby (about 20 people) instinctively looks up, and notices that it is exactly 11:00. The clocktower then ticks, and it is no longer exactly 11:00.
"Miss, it's 11:00. We've got to make sure the kitchen's ready by 12:00."
"I know our schedule, Jifan."
"The problem is that there are rats in the kitchen and they've gotten into the spices and beans."
"The spices and the beans?"
"Yes, Miss. The spices and the beans."
"Now that is a problem, but I'm sure you don't need my help."
"I asked Ebris to deal with them, but he decided not to deal with them."
"I can't make him deal with the rats, if that's what you're suggesting."
"Miss, that is what I was suggesting."
"Then I guess we have rats now."
Jani takes a long sip from her chalice of Brenji Morning.
"Miss, we need to deal with the rats."
"You and I can't deal with the rats. Ebris won't deal with the rats. Our only possible course of action is to not deal with the rats."
"But the rats need to be dealt with somehow."
Jani doesn't respond. Instead, she lets the moment continue, takes another sip of her chalice, then looks up at Jifan.
"Well, Miss?"
"Look, I'm not going to make Ebris deal with the rats. He's decided not to deal with the rats, and he's the only one who can deal with the rats, so the rats will not be dealt with. Simple as that."
Such are the wisdoms that arise from a chalice of Brenji Morning. But even without a chalice of Brenji Morning, Jifan comes to a realisation:
"What if Ebris isn't the only one who can deal with the rats?"
"Who else did you have in mind?"
"I've got an idea for how to deal with the rats myself, Miss."
"Then you don't need me at the Lodge & Lunch."
After that remark, Jani and Jifan glance at one another for more than a second. It takes more than a second. Jifan then proceeds to leave the Square Cafe, and walk along the inland streets to the back door of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. Along the way, she runs into Ebris fifteen seconds after he left a nondescript store holding approximately too many sacks of beans. Noticing that at least a hundred beans had already spilled onto the stone street, Jifan immediately stops to question him.
"Ebris, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in charge of the Lodge & Lunch."
"Miss Jifan, the rats got into the beans. I got some replacements."
"Did you deal with the rats first?"
"No."
"And you're out here getting more beans and spilling them all over the floor. You know our contract only has 30 more sacks of beans this year."
"Well it’s 22 now. But we need to replace the beans that the rats got into!"
"We need to deal with the rats first!"
Exasperated, Jifan leaves Ebris to his sacks of beans and hurries southwards to the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. She re-opens the back door with her back door key. Unexpectedly, it's a little stiff. With effort, she opens the back door. The back room is, as usual, mostly empty. Jifan walks through the back room with ease, and enters the kitchen, which is, as expected, still full of rats. One sack of beans is already fully distributed among the stomachs of dozens of happy rats.
Jifan then scans the kitchen for another sack of beans. She notices one atop the high shelf. That's the shelf she can't reach. She scans the room for a step-ladder, or stool, or something else to help reach the shelf. In 0.8 seconds, she spots a step-ladder lying against the kitchen counter. She picks it up, sets it down, and brings the sack of beans down from the shelf. She then steps down from the step ladder, holding the sack shut. She then carefully distributes the beans along the kitchen floor in a line. The rats begin to follow the beans as they descend in a trail on the kitchen floor. Jifan then continued the trail through the back room and out the back door. Ebris had just caught up with her, still carrying too many sacks of beans.
"Oh, Miss Jifan—"
"Ebris, get out of the way. A bunch of rats are going to barge out of the back door."
A bunch of rats barge out of the back door, following the trail of beans onto the stone street. They then smell a second trail of beans: Ebris's trail, leading to the nondescript store. The rats switch to the new trail, heading northward. In a matter of minutes, the rat problem is solved. Jifan first checks the kitchen to ensure that it is now rat-free, which it is, before helping Ebris carry the new sacks of beans into the kitchen of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. The sacks are exactly as heavy as she expected them to be.
Meanwhile, Jani has just finished her chalice of Brenji Morning. The Portside Square Clocktower enthusiastically tolls, indicating that it is exactly 11:20. Jani gets up, brings her empty chalice to the counter, and marks another box on her contract with the Square Cafe. She then departs from the Square Cafe, and walks westwards past the clocktower and so to the coast. She is walking towards the storm, and witnesses its intense beauty. Its pale gloom casts a shadow upon the town. As it has been since long before the first empires rose and fell, it hovers over the sea, rendering it too rough and jagged to even contemplate crossing. Jani stares at the storm in fascination and awe, as she has done before thousands of times. Jani has known the storm her whole life; everyone on the coasts of the Federation has, and those far from the coasts still feel its presence. To Jani, the storm was akin to an ever-present indifferent friend. A constant; a steady foundation; an unwavering gloom. Life ebbs and flows; empires wax and wane; rivers shuffle about, setting new courses to meander; iron rusts; uninhabited, inhospitable, and useless pieces of land are claimed in the name of a queen with no intent of visiting them; forests bloom and dwindle; cities rise, grow, prosper, decline, and burn; revolutions oust monarchies, instituting new governments that fall apart in a matter of weeks, only to be replaced by a carbon copy of the old social order; nations fracture and the Federation unites. Throughout the centuries, the storm has persisted, binding all of known humanity to the islands of Casea and Brisa.
Jani blinks and takes a deep breath. That awe she feels when gazing at the storm never gets old. Having taken a moment to watch the storm, she then continues southwards along the bay-side road to languidly return to the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. After travelling along the street for a block or so, she notices a handful of fish lying at the front door of the Lodge & Lunch. Without hesitation, she picks up the oily fish with her bare hands and throws them back into the sea. She wipes the oil off her hands on a readily-available handkerchief from her pocket. She then opens the front door of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, and walks back into the familiar reception. It's partially illuminated by sunlight reflecting off the storm, and the air is full of the cacophonous clanging of pots as Jifan and Ebris get the kitchen ready. Jifan, being observant, leaves the kitchen to talk to Jani.
"Ah, Miss! You're back!"
"I'm guessing you've already dealt with the rats?"
"Yes, Miss, I dealt with the rats. I lead them out using beans."
"How many beans?"
"What do you mean?"
"How many beans did it take you to lure the rats out of the kitchen?"
"I didn't count the beans, Miss."
"Ok, I'll rephrase the question: are we still able to serve beans for lunch today?"
"Oh, that won't be a problem; Ebris brought a few sacks of beans from the store. And by "few", I mean too many."
"Doesn't he know that we only have 30 sacks left this y—"
"Yes, Miss. I told him. We're down to 22. I hope our customers like beans."
"He—he brought EIGHT sacks?"
"8 sacks."
"EIGHT sacks?"
"Yes, Miss. He brought eight sacks of beans. I had to help carry them in after he spilled some of them onto the street."
"Well at least we don't have to worry about running out of beans any time soon."
Jani and Jifan then walk into the kitchen. To Jani's mild surprise, Ebris is actually getting the kitchen ready. Today's special: bean and onion soup. After a moment or two helping Ebris get the kitchen ready, Jani decides to adjust the sign at the front door, to advertise the change in menu. The bells of the Portside Square Clocktower are audible, enthusiastically informing the district that it is exactly 11:40. The storm still blankets the coast. It serenely continues its eternal hovering, sharpening the turbulent sea below it. In an uncommon moment of focus, Jani manages to look away from the storm and update the sign. She clears yesterday's "Hot Radish & Onions" and legibly impresses the words "Today's Special: Bean & Onion Soup" onto the sign. With a task completed, she turns around, and takes yet another moment to gaze at the perpetual storm. Its beauty is obvious to Jani. She stands by the coast, looking at the same storm as thousands, nay millions, before her. Millions who witnessed the harsh sea, and wondered what strange places may lie beyond it.
In the kitchen, Jifan and Ebris have managed to prepare the kitchen for cooking some bean and onion soup. One of her duties fulfilled, Jifan leaves the kitchen to begin setting the tables in the reception. With a large pot of water carefully placed on the stove, Ebris hurls a few chunks of coal into the furnace, and sets it ablaze. As the fire grows, he begins chopping onions at the pace of a university student starting a six-thousand-word essay due tomorrow morning. With each batch of onions he chops, he discards the skins haphazardly, and slides the slices into the pot. He adds a dash of salt, violating Canon 26 of the 237th Conclave of Framche (not that he cares at all). With the onions in the pot, he gets a bowl and pours in approximately too many beans. He furtively checks his surroundings before opening a hidden wall compartment wherein he keeps his secret sauce. He measures a spoonful of it, adds it to the bean bowl, then leaves the spoon in the bowl as he surreptitiously puts the sauce back into the secret compartment. As the furnace heats up, the pot begins to boil over, so he slides it a little bit away from the heat, giving his hand a minor burn in the process. He has burnt his hand like this thousands of times: it’s no big deal. He stirs the secret sauce into the beans, vigorously. A few beans fly out of the bowl: he picks them up and puts them back in. Once the sauce is sufficiently absorbed by the beans, he pours the mixture into the pot, and slides it back on the high heat. After a bit more stirring, he instinctively reaches for the spice cupboard, then realises the contents thereof were eaten by rats. He accepts that there will be no spices in today's meal as an acceptable punishment for not dealing with the rats earlier.
Jani still stands outside the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, seemingly captivated by the perpetual storm in her usual fashion. Jifan notices her from within the Lodge & Lunch, and decides to approach her. She finishes setting the last tablecloth and arranging the final set of cutlery, then steps away from the tables and yaws towards the front door, her eyes locked on Jani. As she opens the front door, it feels a little strange. It might have been something about how the handle reacted to the force of her hand. Unbothered by the physics of the front door handle, she steps outside onto the coastal street. Jani is to her left, eyes glued to the storm, noticeably more than they usually are. Jifan, after a second of deliberation, saccades towards the storm. For the first time in her life, she cares about it. She turns back to Jani, who has a tear in her eye.
"The storm is ending."
Chapter 2: Cataclysmic Hermeneutics
This chapter has footnotes.* Mouse over the asterisks to read them.
572-8-24 —✾— 12:00
Clouds are spiralling into thin air. The coasts which were once grey are now brightening. As the light over the bay disperses through the æther, the news becomes apparent to the dwellers of Brenji's inland streets. Coincidentally, the Portside Square Clocktower tolls twelve times on the momentous occasion. After millennia of history bound to two islands, the citizens of every coastal settlement in the Caseic Federation witness the mid·day dawn of a new epoch. The sea drops its jagged edges. Its vastness is revealed in gradual phases as the storm fades away. Jani and Jifan, gazing west across Brenjia Bay, see a weirdly-blue expanse with the tiniest hint of visible land on the other side.
In world-changing events such as these, the first instinct of many is to panic. In the Caseic Archipelago, the religious suppress this instinct, but the non-religious scream in shock. A fundamental pillar of their mental model of the world has shattered before them as if the ground had disappeared from beneath their feet in the blink of an eye. The fundamental constant, the foundation on which the human psyche developed, has vanished in a matter of minutes. The religious, however, see the calming of the seas as the arrival of the inevitable. Cosmic clocks have to strike twelve at some point, don’t they? In the north of Casea, the dominant religion is Framjism: a tradition said to be passed down from Framji, an alleged first human. According to the Framjists, he was given a divine instruction from Chae, the goddess of water, who with the help of Her parent Achea had sprouted Framji from the ground:
“i have made the seas rough for you shall not yet venture into them; you and your descendants shall first learn to care for this land, ere you venture to other lands and take care of them”*
Framjists view the calming of the seas as a fulfilment of the prophecy inherent within Chae’s command, a demonstration that humanity has taken sufficient care of the land, and are now ready to take care of more.
In the south of Casea, and on the island of Brisa, Gastism is the dominant religion. Whereas the Framjists like and/or worship their gods, the Gastists despise their gods with dystheistic fervour. They hate Pechi, the god of the sea, for oppressing humanity by binding it to the land. They hate Ajia, the god of the soil, for oppressing humanity by being an irregular and unreliable means of nourishment. Jafei, the father of Ajia and Pechi, is less reviled by the Gastists. In fact, there are even a few temples dedicated to Him. According to Gastist theologians, Jafei created the first human, Gasti, by combining the left arms of Ajia and Pechi, whom He had dismembered to punish them for perpetually fighting one another. He commanded Gasti:
“MY CREATION, YOU AND YOUR DESCENDANTS SHALL BE TASKED WITH ENDING THE BICKERING OF MY CHILDREN.”*
Jafei gave Gasti two tools to end the bickering of His children: a fishing rod to command Pechi, and a spear to control Ajia. How would a spear control Ajia, you ask? After their dismemberment, Pechi and Ajia began to detest Jafei, and his creation, even more than they detest one another. As Pechi developed storms to bind humanity to the islands of Casea and Brisa, Ajia created her own humans to torment the descendants of Gasti. That’s what the spear is for. Over millennia, the descendants of Gasti learned to live with Ajia’s creation, and gained a reputation for being promoters of peace, love, and harmony. It was a matter of pragmatism: fighting gets tiring after a while, whereas co·operation is invigorating.
After the initial phase of panic subsides, a new emotion rises: wonder. At the shore opposite from Jani and Jifan, a few brave fishing ships drift out of the mouth of the Narim river. These explorers, who had for their entire lives only known the river, submitted to the currents of the open bay, pulling them to the northwest. After about three hours, they reach an inhospitable and spiky island populated entirely by sea urchins. Of course, jagged rocks are not a great place to plant a flag, so the captain of one ship decides, without consulting anyone else, that it would be a good idea to blow up a small section of the coast using their cannons. Having carved out a space to claim, they travel back to report their findings to their monarch, Duke Jifan XVII*, who will decide whether to claim it for the Kingdom of Jifancaya.
As the ships are returning to Jifancaya, a travelling astronomer arrives at her observatory in Brenji. She’s here early. It’s still daytime, and being an astronomer, she has nothing planned until night descends. The telescope won’t need to be pointing up for the next few hours, so she may as well point it across the freshly revealed sea. She believes she might find something interesting. In a matter of surprisingly few minutes, she finds two large islands in Brenjia Bay. She then hurriedly writes a letter to her friend Jefram Enchi, who happens to be the mayor of Brenji. Enchi then forwards the letter to the president of Brenjia, Iricha Fambraj, along with a request to name the larger of the two islands “Enchi Island”. At no point in this process did anyone suggest a name for the smaller island.
Meanwhile, in the palace of Jifanci, Duke Jifan XVII makes his verdict: he will indeed claim an inhospitable island he has no intention of visiting. For the name, he suggests “Jifancaya”. An advisor interjects.
“My liege, wouldn’t that be confusing? This land is already called Jifancaya.”
“My faithful servant, you are indeed correct. Thus I suggest the name Jifancaya Minor.”
And so, over the next few hours, a small group of artisans begin carving two large stone tablets. The first tablet is heavier than the second, but both bear the same inscription:
THIS IS THE ISLAND OF JIFANCAYA MINOR
CLAIMED ON 572-8-24 FOR THE KINGDOM OF JIFANCAYA
IN THE NAME OF HIS MAJESTY DUKE JIFAN XVII
Once carved, the tablets are loaded onto separate ships stationed in the Narim river. The ship burdened with the heavier tablet sinks immediately upon being loaded. Thus, the ship with the lighter tablet is the one to deliver the claim to the island. As it is after 16:00, neither claim on the island can be brought to the Federal Council today. They’ll have to wait until the next legislative session, on 572-8-27. Thus, this island will remain in legal limbo until then. Opportunistically, Enchi orders the production of his own stone tablet:
THIS IS ENCHI ISLAND
SO NAMED BECAUSE OF ITS DISCOVERY ON 572-8-24
BY MAYOR JEFRAM ENCHI OF BRENJI
APPROVED BY IRICHA FAMBRAJ, PRESIDENT OF BRENJI
AND THE OTHER PENTARCHS OF THE GRAND NAYELA UNION
There are numerous problems with this inscription. To name a few:
- Jefram Enchi did not discover Enchi Island.
- President Iricha Fambraj has not yet approved Enchi’s claim of Enchi Island.
- The four other pentarchs of the Greater Nayela Union haven't approved the claim either.
- Iricha Fambraj is the president of Brenjia, a state, not of Brenji, a town.
- Brenjia is part of the Greater Nayela Union, not the Grand Nayela Union.*
- The inscription never explicitly makes any claim of ownership of Enchi Island.
Jefram Enchi, having ordered the tablet, ignores each and every one of these problems gleefully.
Jifan Iri-Semswe has gotten used to the now-calm seas. Jani still needs at least another hour to stare in bewilderment. Ebris was so busy cooking the bean and onion soup that he didn’t notice the calming until sometime after 16:30. He also didn’t notice the customers, few that there were, not ordering the bean and onion soup and instead talking in surprised tones about the storm's end. When Ebris finally did see the lack of storm outside the windows, he just assumed that he was dreaming: today he had experienced very little abuse from customers, had been free to meditatively make soup for four and a half hours, and now had seen that it’s suddenly a weird colour outside. He decides to go up and into his staffroom to will some fun things into existence, as he often does in dreams.
Ebris opens the window slightly to let in some fresh air, then starts the fun by trying to will a mushroom into the palm of his hand. Unfortunately for his grasp on reality, it actually happens. You see, many blocks to the east, in the district of Rising Slopes, a barber happened to be carrying a bowl along the east side of Main Boulevard. This bowl is shiny, metallic, and most importantly, concave. For a brief moment, it focuses reflected sunlight onto an aubergine in a fruit stall across the road, causing it to begin smoking. This causes commotion as the fruit stall manager demands an explanation from their baffled employee. An opportunistic child sneakily absconds with the smoked aubergine as the argument escalates. They then covertly dash into a secluded alleyway, and hand the smoked aubergine to an accomplice, who then substitutes it for a durian. The accomplice puts the smoked aubergine into a fruit·basket, and obscures it by careful positioning of decoy fruits. The child, meanwhile, holds onto the durian as they gallop through the markets. They take an inefficient left onto a cobble·stone street leading out of the markets and towards Rising Slopes Park. This turns out to be an apocalyptic mistake for the child. They crash into another child, who happens to be employed in a similarly convoluted scheme. This other child’s modus operandi involves surreptitiously extracting the innards from gourds then placing the shells in the stalls of unsuspecting gourd-sellers. After they crash into one another, the aubergine-thief and the gourd-manipulator are mildly injured, smelling of durian, and surrounded by the shattered shells of hollowed gourds. Knowing that neither of their accomplices would approve of what had just happened, they instinctively scuttle back into the markets. They deliberately collide with another aubergine stand, causing the stack of aubergines therein to collapse onto the street like a house of cards. The gourd-manipulator’s accomplice notices the cascading aubergines, and begins picking them off the street. Under a guise of being helpful to the toppled stall’s fruit-seller, she surreptitiously stuffs a few of the cascaded aubergines into the depths of her fruit-basket. Meanwhile, the children are rushing through the markets. Opportunistically, the gourd-manipulator picks up a handful of mushrooms from a stand managed by an oblivious grocer talking to the grocer next to her about the end of the perpetual storm. The children manage to weave their way out of the crowded market and enter Rising Slopes Park. The aubergine-thief’s accomplice spots them from the adjacent corner the park, and yells for them. The children notice the accomplice, and dash southwards along the park's boundary, past the under-construction Brenji Stadium. Their plan works: the aubergine-thief's accomplice loses track of them. However, the children keep running. In the south-west area of Rising Slopes Park, an archer’s club is participating in their hexadiurnal games. Today’s hexadiurnal game is adversarial paired archery: all archers are armoured and ready to attempt to hit one another. As they stretch their bows, the children run into their midst. Thinking quickly, the gourd-manipulator throws a handful of stolen mushrooms into the air. Instinctively, the archers look up at the mushrooms and release their bowstrings without realising. Improbably, one of the arrows pierces one of the flying mushrooms, and continues in a high trajectory further to the south-west.* The arrow happens to fly into the neighbouring district of Portside, and descends towards a slightly-open window at the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. Therein, the arrow’s large tail-feathers keep it trapped outside, and the mushroom escapes from the arrow's shaft and dives onto the palm of Ebris’s hand.
Ebris then tries to will a second mushroom into the palm of his hand. It doesn’t happen, so he tries willing harder. It still doesn’t happen. Ebris is forced to confront the fact that he is not, in fact, dreaming. He wants to be dreaming though, so he goes to bed.
Tonight, the islands barely sleep. Nearly everyone who lives by the coasts is up, looking across the crisp, dark, sea, excited and curious about what may lie beyond the waters. A few wonder if the calming of the seas was a sign of the end times, and start worrying about whether the sun will come up in the morning. In the Federation’s capital, Ibe-Jibin, a lawyer working late at night is in the Legislative Archives, looking for a specific document. With an electric lamp strapped to her shoulder, she haphazardly opens the card catalogue. Her index finger glides past the labels on the tabs: Financial Regulations, Fire Safety Regulations, Fish Management, Fjord Boundary Demarcations, Fjrst Contact Protocols. It’s mis·spelt in the card catalogue. She pulls out the card by the tab, and sees the shelf number: 617. She leaves the card catalogue room and heads to the 6th floor. Or at least she tries to. The stairs are currently locked off for the night, and she isn’t staff. She decides it’s not worth the effort, and heads home to sleep. Or at least try to sleep with the excitement of the potential for what may lay beyond the seas.
Hours later, it’s 03:00. An archivist wakes up in their home in Niyasto, the western district of Ibe-Jibin. Gripped by excitement at what may happen soon, they decide to get up. Tropical rain is pouring heavily outside their concrete house. The archivist puts on their long icterine rain-tunic and their double-sash, heads down the stairs, and so to the streets of Ibe-Jibin. They walk in the warm heavy rain, as it gets into their hair and drips down their chin. Tonight is surprisingly peaceful: nearly everyone on the islands was quite excited about the calming of the seas during the evening, but most have managed to get to bed by midnight. The archivist, however, decided to go to bed early after they saw the calming of the seas. They’re rested. After going down a handful of wet streets in the warm nightly rain, they reach the district of Sencrum, and head to the archive therein. As they turn a corner, the rain diminishes. By the time they reach the Legislative Archives, their tunic is already dry. They enter the building, then step into the card catalogue room. The lawyer from several hours ago left it open, with the “Fjrst Contact Protocols” card proudly displaying the shelf number 617. The archivist reasons that someone else must have been looking for the same thing that they’re looking for.
The archivist, having night·time access to the 6th floor, unlocks the door to the stairs. They lock the door behind them. Up the stairs they go: from the ground floor to the 1st floor to the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor to the 4th floor to the 5th floor and finally to the 6th floor. Before they open the door to the 6th floor and enter, they can already hear commotion. It turns out that they are not the only excited archivist in the Legislative Archives tonight; far from it, in fact. There are a lot of archivists here, and none of them know where the First Contact Protocols have gone. Over the next few hours, a large number of lawyers and archivists, knowledgeable about the existence of the First Contact Protocols, independently connect the dots, get excited, put on their clothes, walk to the Legislative Archives, and join the mass of caffeinated scroungers struggling to track down the protocols.
When the Gastists witnessed the calming of the seas, they came to an informal consensus that something had happened to Pechi. The most common hypothesis was that Pechi had died, and that they were now free to focus their efforts on fighting Ajia. They will continue to eat fish, of course, because fish are delicious. Just because the cruel god of the sea that bound you to the island is dead doesn’t mean that you can’t loot its corpse. The Framjists don’t eat fish because they never have: thousands of years ago, the 23rd Conclave of Framche decided that fish are a form of meat, and the 12th Conclave of Framche decided that eating meat is a violation of Chae’s command.
Dawn breaks at around 06:00 on 572-8-25. The crowd of excited archivists and lawyers at the Legislative Archives have grown in number. and they still have no idea where the First Contact Protocols have gone. A less-excited archivist, who wakes up at a more reasonable time than his contemporaries, but still very early, arrives at the Legislative Archives. His long honeydew-green tunic and iron-grey archivist’s sash complement his physique perfectly. His keen fashion sense gives him an air of authority. (Being the Chief Archivist of the Legislative Archives also helps.) As he swings open the doors, the swarm of over-caffeinated archivists and lawyers who spent the past few hours scouring the Legislative Archives in pursuit of the ever-elusive First Contact Protocols feel their attention gravitate towards the gentleman in the honeydew tunic.
“I’m sorry, what’s going on here?”
“We’re looking—” “I’m trying to—” “A bunch of us—”
“One at a time, please.”
“We’re looking for the—” “When we heard about the storm—”
The gentleman decided that a more discerning tactic would be necessary. He chooses one of the archivists at random, and points at her.
“Yes, Chief?”
“What in Ajia’s foul name is going on here?”
“We’re looking for the First Contact Protocols”
The gears of logic began to rotate in his mind. This sundry bunch of archivists and lawyers is scrambling about the ground floor of the Legislative Archives, trying to find the First Contact Protocols. Evidently, they have no clue as to where the protocols are, since the ground floor is exclusively used for four things:
- Shelves of legislative decisions relating to who can access the Legislative Archives.
- The card catalogue.
- The office of the Chief Archivist, which is currently locked.
- Holding up the rest of the floors.
Clearly, the gaggle of lawyers and archivists would be placated if they gained a modicum of information about the whereabouts of the First Contact Protocols. The currently-locked office might be of use, and he has a key. However, he has at least a dozen lawyer-shaped obstacles in his way.
“Excuse me, let me pass, I’ve got a key to the office.”
The lawyer-shaped obstacles prove no less obtrusive after he makes this suggestion, but he manages to stumble through the crowd nonetheless. He puts his key in the office door, and rotates it exactly 85 degrees counter-clockwise. The lock opens with a satisfying click. The gentleman realises that he's made a fatal miscalculation: the office door opens outwards.
“Stand back everyone, the office door opens outwards.”
The amorphous gaggle of lawyers and archivists shuffle backwards. Once they produce sufficient space for the door to open, the gentleman pulls on the door-handle and tries to open the door. He remembered wrong: the door opens inwards. He pushes on the door-handle, and enters the office. Undeterred by his blunder, he waltzes into his office, and opens a drawer succinctly labelled “572-8”. From this drawer, he meticulously produces a folder labelled “Lendings – 572-8”. He places the folder on his stone desk and flicks through it, page by page. He then spots the First Contact Protocols:
“First Contact Protocols, lent on 572-8-12 to Ms. Frisa Iri-Gachania, lawyer at Iri-Gachania & Co., located in south-east Niyasto.”
As the gentleman’s words fill the air, the swarm of archivists and lawyers swiftly disperse from the ground floor of the Legislative Archives. The jural swarm in the upper floors is less quick to dissipate. In less than an hour, a law firm on the other side of the city will get a surprise visit from at least a hundred over-caffeinated lawyers and archivists trying to get a sneak peak into their near future.
At the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, the night passed by peacefully. Jani and Jifan were each asleep in their own rooms, and Ebris managed to go to sleep fairly quickly after trying to will mushrooms into existence. It is only when the morning sets in that the three of them truly realise the gravity of the situation. It’s the first day they wake up without the familiar howl of the storm’s winds. The storm just ended one day, seemingly at random. What other constants of life could end in the same manner?
Chapter 3: Fjrst Contact
572-8-25 —✾— 06:45
The jural swarm descends upon Iri-Gachania & Co. in pursuit of the protocols. A tired lawyer therein wakes up from the commotion outside her firm's door. She puts on her tunic and sash, then lethargically approaches her door. Still half-asleep, she opens it.
"H-hello?"
She is greeted by a large crowd of excited and over-caffeinated lawyers and archivists, many of which have been up since before dawn. More than twenty of them visible from the door.
"What foul god sent you here?"
"We're looking for the First Contact Protocols. Or the Fjrst Contact Protocols, as the case may be."
"Are you the leader, or—"
"No, we're all individuals. I'm just the most talkative one."
"Right."
The sleep-deprived lawyer decides to slowly let the swarm enter her building.
"I think I left them somewhere around here. Come in, but one at a time."
The command was ignored by the jural swarm.
At the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, it's another morning of minimal preparation for the handful of customers who'll show up today. Jifan is setting tables, Ebris is relaxing outside the kitchen, and Jani is staring at the lack of storm outside the windows. Despite their world having been tossed into the unknown, they still prepare for business as usual. It's a force of habit.
Today, more customers come in than usual. Many of them are coming from inland Brenji, having walked all the way from the eastern district of Tenement and through Rising Slopes on a day trip to see the Portside shoreline.
572-8-27 —✾— 10:00
The chair of the Federal Council strikes a stone desk with their gavel. A Legislative Session has officially begun.
"The Federal Council now begins the Legislative Session for 572-8-27. Clerk, state the agenda for today"
"Today's agenda has been tough to decide. We have been hard at work prioritising what is important. First and foremost on the agenda is the re-regulation of resource rights in the Gemnis Rivers. If time allows, we can discuss the possibility of first contact and discuss whether we need to prepare for the implementation of the First Contact Protocols."
"Thank you clerk. Are there any objections to the order of agenda as stated?"
A representative of Esiga raises her hand at the back of the council-room. She is deliberately ignored by the chair.
"No objections. Very well. Let us proceed with the Legislative Session. Representative Ambraji of Fejafia, I believe you're the one who brought this motion forward?"
The chair holds up a piece of thin, machine-cut, lead. The motion is inscribed upon it with irritatingly-kerned lettering. Representative Ambraji is proud of her decisions. The lead sheet is uncomfortable to hold. It deforms slightly in the chair's aged hands.
"Indeed I am."
"Representative Ambraji of Fejafia, this is your seventh warning for violating rules of order. Upon your eighth warning, a motion for serious penalty may be submitted by the Order Subcouncil for consideration at the next Legislative Session."
A restrained chorus of "ooo" can be heard somewhere amidst the back-benches. The chief of the Order Subcouncil takes note.
"Let the record state that the motion submitted by Representative Ambraji is of unsuitable material quality. Where do I even—?"
The chief of the Order Subcouncil hurriedly jots down a note. The chair realises their error (using a first-person nominative pronoun), and progresses swiftly.
"—First, there's the issue of material composition: lead is an unsuitable material for submitting motions. Not only is it so malleable that it bends in my eighty-year-old hands, it is also heavy. In addition, this motion is of the wrong aspect ratio to fit in the Legislative archives. That's not even getting into the text of the motion, which is of improper formatting."
A representative of Capa Framji raises her hand. The chair points at her with one finger, permitting her to speak. She stands up.
"Verbal motion to discard Representative Ambraji of Fejafia's motion on the basis of invalid formatting?"
The chair points at the representative with two fingers, instructing her to stop speaking and sit down. She does. The chair then begins a vote on discussion.
"We will now commence voting to discuss Representative Jifani's motion to discard Representative Ambraji's motion on the basis of invalid formatting."
For what feels like an eternity to everyone involved, the clerk calls each representative down to the front by name, in alphabetical order. One by one, they cast their vote to discuss. Hours pass. Many of the representatives are old, which means they take a while to undertake the journey from the benches to the well in front of the chair where the clerk records their votes. Even though the result is already obvious by the time a third of the votes have been cast, the clerk and the chair implicitly insist that every vote be counted, and so every vote is. As the clerk progresses through the list of names like a scanner, the representatives anticipatorily wait for their turn. Once their turn comes and goes, they're back in the benches. And they're bored. When the last representative, Representative Yuwechi of Jifancaya, is finally summoned to the well, many hold their breaths. The clerk is somehow still awake. Some of the representatives aren't.
"Yuwechi, of Jifancaya?"
"Affirmative."
Yuwechi then returns to her seat at the back benches. With all 323 votes cast, the clerk starts counting the individual tally marks, but quickly realises a faster way of counting the votes.
"Clerk, state the results."
"321 votes in the affirmative, 1 negative, 1 abstain. The motion passes."
The chair tries to remember what the motion was. It takes them a little while.
"This is the motion to allow discussion of rejecting the lead sheet, yes?"
"Yes, Chair."
"Excellent. Discussion may begin."
The efficiency of the Federal Council is as absent as their desire to improve it.
The door of the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch opens swiftly. A customer walks in, her steps echoing through the air. Her tunic is a cinereous grey, and her sash is taupe-brown with silver highlights. Most notably, she's wearing a taupe-brown tricorne hat with a thin silver border to match her sash. Her well-coordinated fashion conveys a sense of authority, practicality, and discipline. As she traverses through the reception, her steps echoing rhythmically, Jani and Jifan watch her intently as she heads towards the counter. Throughout the day, they've experienced a handful more customers than they expected, and they've streamlined the process of taking lunch orders. Jani takes a deep breath before repeating the phrase.
"Welcome to Pleasant Lodge & Lunch! What would you like to eat?"
"Oh, I"m not actually here for the food."
Jani's script is short-circuited. This is a bizarre situation; it's the first time in years that anyone has come to the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch for the Lodge instead of the Lunch.
"I-I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm not here for the food. I'm here to get a room? The sign says Lodge?"
Jani thinks for a second. Then she blinks. She realises the customer is indeed correct, at least for this instance: the sign does say "Lodge", but most customers hadn't paid attention to that part of the sign. Jani and Jifan look at one another, expecting the other one to know what to do. After a total of four awkward seconds pass, the customer interjects.
"Do you have a room?"
Jifan decides to check whether or not the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch has a room. Jani decides to keep the customer busy while she does so.
"I think we have a room; Jifan's just gone upstairs to check."
The customer nods in understanding. Jani then makes a realisation: since the customer is asking for Lodge and not Lunch, she's probably not from the local area. That, or she's some weird person who lives in town and gets a feeling of extravagance by sleeping in a different district than usual. Jani makes a gamble for the sake of conversation, and assumes that the customer is of the former group.
"So, what brings you to Brenji?"
"Oh, I'm from Framaja-Nayela. I'm down here on official business relating to President Fambraj. Classified business."
"The President isn't letting you stay at his place?"
The customer chuckles.
"Let me put it this way: the president didn't exactly invite me here."
The meaning of the taupe-brown tricorne becomes apparent in Jani's mind: this customer is in Brenji to audit the president's tax policies, or something to that effect. Whatever her specific mission may be, this customer is obviously someone who works for the central government of the Greater Nayela Union and has come to bring consequences to the president on a silver platter. Actually, it seems that the platter is more likely to be taupe-brown than silver. Regardless of the platter's colour, deserved trouble of indeterminate proportion was en route to President Fambraj. Jani, knowing better than to say any part of this train of logic aloud, opts for silence. Jani and the customer awkwardly stare at one another, eagerly waiting for Jifan's return. It takes more than a few moments, but eventually Jani breaks the silence.
"Sorry, i-it's taking longer than usual. I guess we could write the contract for the room while we wait for Jifan to come back."
"Oh, certainly. It will provide something to do in the meantime."
Jifan gets a stylus and a prepared tablet from beneath the counter.
"What are you offering? Government secrets? Information?"
"Avoid being absurd. I take confidentiality seriously."
Jani mentally noted that the customer was unlikely to spill government secrets willingly.
"So if you're not offering secrets, what are you giving in exchange for the room?"
The customer hesitates. She takes a second or so, cycling through her mental rolodex, then finds something to offer.
"I know a guy who can renovate this place."
Thus, they begin writing the contract for the room: the customer, Jelachi Aca, agrees to spend exactly one night at the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch, room to be determined, in exchange for getting the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch in contact with the renovator no later than four months from now. The phrase "four months" is struck through and revised multiple times, before they eventually settle on "573-0-17 at 15:20". Jifan finally returns.
"We do have a couple of rooms available, but I'll warn you: there's been a rat infestation in one of them."
The customer regrets not spending more time spinning her mental rolodex. She could have provided the contact details of an exterminator based in Abayea who would be of great help. Alas, she made her offer, and it has already been accepted.
In Ibe-Jibin, the jural swarm finally acquired their prize: a thin booklet detailing the First Contact Protocols. The hand-inscribed title is unclear: it's entirely understandable how someone could mistake it for reading "Fjrst Contact Protocols". Alas, it is after 16:00, so they"ll have to wait for the next legislative session before the protocols are implemented. Nevertheless, they leave the booklet at the Federal Council hall, to be picked up by a clerk and placed on a future agenda. Whenever they get around to it.
It's a calm day at Radio Brenji. Jerica Wiche, Jani's brother, sits still in a chair capable of swivelling. His rust-red sash pairs poorly with his beige tunic. Luckily, he works at Radio Brenji, so the only people who notice are his co-workers. One of whom walks in, his clothing just as unfashionable.
"Hey, you know the new directional antennæ we got the other day?"
"Yeah?"
"Come look at this, they picked something up when I pointed them north. Two things, actually. You might want to take a look."
"What?"
The co-worker drags Jerica along by his swivelling-chair to an array of strange devices the two were intimately familiar with. On one of the analog screens, a phosphorescent line shakes noisily. The co-worker twists a handful of knobs. Above, the directional antennæ spin towards the north-west. The line sharpens, its noise diminishing. Jerica sees that someone to the north-west is transmitting radio signals.
"North-west? That"d be Jifancaya, right?"
"Take a closer look at the angle."
Jerica does so: the angle seems to be too far to the north of where he knew radio stations in Jifancaya to be.
"What are they saying?"
The co-worker plugs a cable into an unlabelled metallic socket on the wall. Jerica put the other end of the cable into a speaker. With gestural approval, the co-worker begins turning the volume up.
"FOR THE CRIME OF BLASPHEMY AGAINST THE DRAGON'S WISDOM SI—"
The co-worker dials the volume down. Jerica's ears still ring.
"—lligsdaughter of Clan Ostag shall be thrown into the Dragon's Maw, and—"
The signal turns to static as the co-worker re-adjusts an unlabelled knob. Above the station, the antennæ spin.
"What's a dragon?"
"No idea. But I found another, more interesting, signal to the north-east."
The antennæ now point to the north-east. With the co-worker's careful adjustments, the static emanating from the speakers subsides, and a clear signal can eventually be heard.
"—Crabs. Indeed they are excellent creatures. Truly they are blessed"
Puzzled by the broadcast and not knowing what a crab is, Jerica wonders what radio station could possibly be in the north-east. He begins drafting a letter to the Federal Council.
572-9-15 —✾— 15:38
The Federal Council meets again, as it does every three days. Like the last five Legislative Sessions, discussion of how to implement the First Contact Protocols (or the Fjrst Contact Protocols, as the case may be) is potentially on the agenda. However, a few things are different today: firstly, there have been no motions submitted on machine-cut lead*; secondly, the Federal Council finally has the booklet which details the First Contact Protocols; thirdly, there is newly-discovered evidence of other civilisations across the seas, documented in hundreds of letters mainly written by radio operators. Discussion is abuzz, yet orderly:
"Chair, should we really be discussing which state owns the Gemnis rivers when there are reports detailing evidence of civilisations across the seas?"
It does indeed take until 15:38 for the topic of first contact to actually be mentioned. Legislative Sessions are required by law to end at 16:00. The chair decides to think of a quick way to resolve the first contact issue so that the Federal Council can focus on the ongoing territorial dispute involving the Gemnis rivers. In eight seconds, they come up with an idea: delegation.
"Representative Ambraji of Capa Framji, what do you believe would be the best way to address the issue of oversea civilisations?"
"I believe that it would be good to establish a subcouncil, or perhaps a committee, with the aim of—"
The representative is suddenly interrupted by another. One whom the Federal Council has willfully ignored for far too long.
"With all due respect, by which I mean none, there is no point in establishing a subcouncil. We have protocols for first contact, written nine years ago. Why have we not even opened the booklet sitting at the front desk?"
The chief of the Order Subcouncil is too shocked to jot down a note. The chair sits in silence for several seconds, stunned. The representative continues:
"Do none of you see that the Federal Council is stagnant as brick? We set nothing in motion: all we do is chatter and organise subcommittees while the citizens of our member kingdoms are waiting for us to take action! What if they invade us tomorrow? First contact is an urgent issue!"
The chair composes themself.
"Representative Jitai of Esiga, what do you suggest that the Federal Council do in response to the existence of oversea civilisations?"
"You could open the booklet sitting in front of you, for a start."
"The Council will now vote on whether to discuss Representative Jitai's motion to open the booklet of First Contact Protocols."
The chief of the Order Subcouncil decides to interject:
"Chair, the title of the booklet is a matter of dispute. Let the record show that the booklet may contain the Fjrst Contact Protocols."
"Very well. Let voting commence."
Progress is a concept foreign to most members of the Federal Council. But nonetheless, the representatives make small attempts to hasten procedure. The younger representatives move down the steps at a faster rate than normal. The older ones ready themselves to descend when their names are called. Miraculously, all 323 of the representatives cast their votes in less than seven minutes. And all of them are awake.
"The Federal Council has unanimously decided to open the booklet."
The chair's aged hands stretch to reach the booklet, bring it closer, and open it.
The CFS Fromachi II sits in the harbour of Bariyesa, ready to travel north. All she is waiting for is the notification of authorisation from the Federal Council. Every member of her crew is experienced, and brave to the point some may call them insane. Years ago, the ship had braved the perpetual storm, making her the first and so far only ship to have travelled along the south coast of Casea.
Originally named CFS Brisa 567:4, she was laid down by the Brisa Shipbuilding Company on 567-3-10, and launched on 567-Z-27, just in time for the new year celebrations. For seven trips across the Brisa strait between Nisi and Jiricaya, the crew were content to be a cog in the Federation's logistical machine. On the eighth trip, the Jiricaya Trading Company reduced the quantity of hardtack aboard the CFS Brisa 567:4 by one. Naturally, the crew cursed Ajia and unanimously committed mutiny. The captain was thrown overboard. A crew member realised it would be suspicious to return to Brisa without the captain, and fished her out of the water. When the crew offloaded the goods, they petitioned the Nisi Trading Association to have extra hardtack. The Nisi Trading Association refused. The crew superficially agreed to comply whilst surreptitiously loading dozens of unmarked crates of extra hardtack on board the ship. As the captain oversaw the final marked crate being hauled onto the CFS Brisa 567:4, she went into a makeshift dockside building and ticked a box on the contract. She exited the building, and found that the ship was already rowing away, leaving her behind.
"Hey!! That's a violation of your contracts! Get back here immediately or they'll be nulled!"
The powerless captain watched her ship leave. The CFS Brisa 567:4 left a foamy wake as she descended over the horizon, heading suspiciously far to the south. She endured torrents of weather that the crew interpreted as a divine obstacle blocking their righteous path away from the companies that wronged them. After some of the crew suspected the seas outside the Brisa Strait of being hazardous, they were thrown overboard by their zealous crewmates, then proven right. At least six days later, having endured the crew's mad request to ride the storm, the ship found herself in the calm of the Bariyesa harbour, with less than a tenth of the crew remaining. To avoid arrest by the Federal government,* the crew absconded inland with the crates of hardtack. The ship was found several days later by a local fisherman, and Duke Fromachi II demanded that the ship be renamed after him and put to use in Bariyesa. About a year later,* the Federal Council complied, and the CFS Fromachi II became a fishing boat.
Today, the CFS Fromachi II has a new mission: to investigate the source of the radio station talking about crabs. She will sail out of the Bariyesa harbour along the eastern coast of Casea. After she passes Point Inswem II, she will head north-east in the direction of the signal's approximated location. The authorisation notification arrives at Bariyesa port at 16:02. The crew adjusts their clocks: it must be 16:00 since that"s when Legislative Sessions end. The crew believes that time is divided into distinct blocks of twenty minutes, and that events can only ever happen at the edges of these blocks. This voyage will not correct their view.
Today there is more business than usual at the Pleasant Lodge & Lunch. Ebris decided that for today, he'd bring a radio into the reception to see if it would attract new customers. It seems to be working, even before the radio is switched on. Neither Jani nor Jifan know where Ebris got the radio from. Ebris tunes into Radio Brenji and begins cooking. Hold music fills the air: Radio Brenji decided that the soothing tunes of hold music would be good for the mental health of Brenji's residents. Their knowledge of psychology is sub·par, and so is the music. Some of the customers accuse Ebris of tuning the radio incorrectly, and are met with responses relating to either his cooking or his sophistication with respect to radio knob finesse.
After drifting across the calm sea to the northeast of Casea, the crew of the CFS Fromachi II sight a shiny white land on the horizon. A gust of wind then blows, chilling the sailors. It is accompanied by a series of further frigid blasts. The sailors, wearing thin tunics and being accustomed to the tropical weather of Casea, are not prepared for this. Still they persevere, and keep rowing towards the land. As they approach, the land rises. Below the white, a rocky grey rises. Below the grey rises green: a dark, unfamiliar, green. As the crew get closer, the nebulous mass of green resolves into distinct trees. They then sight several figures draped in dark fur contrasting against the forests. The figures gather, some of them clearly pointing at the CFS Fromachi II.
Within an hour, the ship runs aground on the shore. The figures approach, presumably to help. Their speech is alien and incomprehensible. Nonetheless, the sailors accept their assistance, in spite of the weird protuberances extending from the centres of their faces.