Chương 82: The Androic Lands - 1

LANCE was told how dry the drylands were but he didn't believe it until his skin cracked like a wasteland's steep. He had gone through the entire batch of skin balm Frank gave to him at the start of his delegation and still had need of more. If this kept up, he was going to look like a crocodile before long! His skin health aside, his journey into the Androic Lands had been pleasant. Frank set him up with a small caravan denoting his status as a diplomat.

Though to think of he, a nineteen-year-old man-boy who had just finished his first year at the academy was a 'diplomat' attested to how strange life had become since the Horror was discovered. A couple of guards, a few servants — paid well for their troubles — and a chef, alongside a junior political consultant was all in his caravan as they journeyed across the portal pathway and into the flesh-mech's territory.

With the capital in sight, an imposing sheet of stone and steel which curved upwards far into the sky, he figured now he ought to review, again, his information packet. He took out a binder filled with information, pictures, local histories and trade disputes. It was all a lot. Way beyond his pay grade. Still, he had accepted the assignment so he would do it to his best to fulfill it. He read the information on the Androic leader, King Pluglet the Third. He was a hardliner, it seemed.

Someone who towed the line on religious matters regarding the flesh-mechs religion, Sparkism. Next, he read about Sparkism, which appeared to be about how the flesh became fused with 'the machine,' which was also their god, and so by being part of 'the machine,' they felt one with God. Their 'God' was not recognized as part of the established Pantheon. That was where trouble came up. Now, the Pantheon was a tricky affair, because no one knew for sure how many Gods were part of the Pantheon.

Despite this, everyone knew the Androic 'God' was not part of the Pantheon because they offered their followers no Celestial System to enrich their Champions. And only those Gods part of the Pantheon offered their Champions Systems. Since the Androic God had not ever offered one of the 'flesh-mechs' a System, it stood to reason that their God, assuming it existed, was not part of the Pantheon. If one's God was not part of the Pantheon, then yeah, discrimination was the least of your problems...

Lance had his work cut out for him. That was for sure... not helping his mission was Pluglet's mission to spread Sparkism across the globe. He played hardball in negotiations and insisted any trade deal came with 'conversion' rights. Which meant setting up missions in foreign lands offering services in exchange for religious education. Obviously, few leaders took up a 'heathen' people on their demands to convert the 'holy' to their 'backwards' religion. How was he going to settle this?

It wasn't as if he had to repair decades of mismanaged relations. That wasn't the purpose of his mission. Anyone who thought a nineteen-year-old could do what seasoned politicians hadn't done was out of their mind. His mission was simply being the 'good face' and maybe edge the Androic leader into a less hardline position. Maybe. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

His caravan pulled up to the city gates, a long shadow having since overtaken them by miles and which cast them all in a cooling shade. the Junior political consultant took lead here and gave them purchase into the city.

"They are expecting us," the consultant, Bipin said.

"We are to go right into the political wing of the palace. Standard procedure."

"Very well. On with it, then," Lance didn't want to waste time sightseeing in the city. He wanted to be done and over with whatever this task was to end up in, so heading straight to the political wing suited him. About twenty minutes later, the caravan pulled into a cool garage made of smooth white marble. There was no heat or humidity in the garage and other than them, it was empty of personnel aside from a single messenger boy.

The servants gathered everyone's things and began their trek into the hospitality zone as he and the junior political consultant, flanked by the guards, approached the messenger boy.

"Hail, boy," Bipin said.

"We thank you and your king for your hospitality. Please, a message for us?" The boy regarded them cooly. He had no mechanized parts in him aside from a metal fingertip. Lance wondered what the story was there but didn't let himself get distracted. the boy spoke cooly and with an air of authority beyond his years: "Our king welcomes you to his land. He requests the presence of one Lance Chaucer right away. The rest may do as they will."

"I am sorry, honored messenger," Bipin said.

"But wherever Lance goes, I go. We are part of the same delegation and, frankly, he lacks the kind of experience I have for affairs such as these. After our opening statements, perhaps at the feast, your king can have words with Lance, yes?" The messenger boy's cool demeanor did not change.

"I apologize, sire, but that is unacceptable." Bipin was about to respond when Lance took over and said, "Bipin, that is fine by me. I will recount everything the king and I speak of and I shalln't miss a note. Let's keep things civil, yes?" Bipin looked at him with a note of disdain but did not argue.

"Very well. I shall be in the hospitality zone, then. If you need any help, please, come and find me or send a messenger." They bowed and left him be to be escorted by the messenger boy. The central palace was much similar to Headquarters. Large hallways twisted through the corridors with enough space to fit an entire column of men or several horses side-to-side. Each hall was decorated well and with portraits, fancy rugs, and lanterns.

Part of Lance wondered if the lanterns burned all the time or if it was only when they had visitors. Surely, not all the time, he reasoned. The amount of lamp oil they would use would've been insane!

The messenger boy brought him into the throne room; they walked on the regal red carpet for minutes until they reached the innermost part of the chamber, an area which culminated not in a throne, as he expected, but a circular table which had seated around a number of fully mechanized individuals with wires plugged into the table. At the table's head was the king, unplugged, and staring into his eyes with the theatrics of a bard. Lance did not let the king's intensity dissuade him, however.

"Greetings, King Pluglet. I am Lance Chaucer. Are we to conduct diplomacy now?" The king stood up as those around the table remained seated and plugged in; the king approached on a shuffling walk.

"Yes, but not here. Please, come into the backroom. We have much to discuss, young one."