(This is a collaborative post by [@Dinh AaronMk] and [@Vilageidiotx]) [b]Beijing, China[/b] They arrived in Tehran at sunset. After the rough landing, Azima wanted to see Persia, but her and the childern were not allowed to leave the plane. It was a refueling stop, so Azima could only see the ancient Iranian city from a porthole window. She could not see much - just the dusty tarmac, and the snow-capped mountains beyond Tehran. They left just as fast as they arrived, and soon they were heading into the heart of the Communist realm. For a girl who had spent all of her life in Africa, she felt absolutely out of her element. Suddenly she was a child again, made small by a world that was completely new to her. And she had a mission of great importance; a burden that meant everything to her family and her people. She had to bring China into the war. The plane was an converted bomber, and the inside looked much too large for a passenger craft. The seats were dwarfed by the size of it all, leaving most of the cabin empty space. And it was poorly insulated. The plane got very cold when they were high in the air. The Chinese compensated for this by giving their guests borrowed flight-jackets, and fuzzy wool blankets that left specks of white residue on their clothes. She went over talking points and considerations in her head. The safety of of Africa was the safety of China, and of the world. This war was a war of extermination, and when the ferengi... the Europeans... when they were done with Africa, they would come for Asia. There was no hiding from the Empire of Spain. To avoid war, that was to try and avoid sunset. This could only end in blood. Sometimes, her mind drifted back to that night in the schoolhouse on Socotra, and the old village elder comforting her. [i]'There are not enough faranj in this world for you to worry'[/i]. A war-like promise, but she was a warriors daughter, so it comforted her. And then there was the other image. It was night when they flew over the Taklamakan Desert, and an unusual thunder-storm was raging just outside the window. Turbulence tossed the heavy plane around and made it impossible to get a decent sleep, and so Azima found herself drifting in and out of consciousness so much that she seemed to be stuck in the twilight between both states. Glimpses of holy divers filled her mind's eye. They were deep in a murky midnight sea, swimming toward something on the sea floor. She caught a glimpse of the thing only once before she was snapped out of her dream by temporary wakefulness. It was blurry blob of pale gold, sparkling like a diamond in the murk. The object seemed to give off its own light. That was the last she saw of it. The rest of her dreams were submerged in the choking black water. When she awoke, she was surprised to see a Chinese officer pointing out things on the ground for Tewodros. Their breath fogged on the window, and Tewodros enthusiastically wiped it away with the corner of his woolen blanket whenever he decided that he could not see. "Hello." she said, to show that she was awake. It irked her that this unknown officer would be so arrogant as to approach a prince, but she had to remind herself of the way these Communists thought. To them, all of the Princes became obsolete the day that Marx first put a pen to paper. The Africans were guests of this strange regime, and they were not owed their titles here. The officer stood up and bowed. He was short by Azima's estimation, though she had observed that shortness was common among the Asian peoples. His forest-green uniform was neatly pressed under a fur-lined flight jacket, and he wore a thick fur hat with an orange star in the front. He looked very young to her - perhaps twenty? She couldn't really tell. "I did not mean to disturb your sleep, Queen." he said. "I couldn't really get sleep." she said. "How close are we to Beijing?" "We are above Ningxia right now." he replied softly. "It will not be long." "Oh." she looked out the window at nothing in particular. "Emaye!" Tewodros exclaimed, pointing wildly at the window as his breath came out in quick foggy puffs. "There is the China Wall." "Oh?" she looked for herself. All she could see was miles and miles of brown ridge-lines. "It is hard to see from here." the Chinese officer spoke up. "But if you look, along the mountain that looks like a snake..." "Oh yes." Azima saw what he meant. There was a thin line of white winding over the landscape. From up here, it was almost impossible to see. "I thought it would be bigger." "There is not much that is big from so high in the air." the officer chuckled politely. "Except what nature has made for us. Cities stick out, but not much else." She nodded. "I don't think I heard your name. You are the officer in charge, I guess?" "Why that guess?" "Your insignia." "Oh yes." he laughed. "Of course. No, I am not an officer, just a sergeant. I am here to oversee our flight. But there is not much to oversee now that we are in China, so I can relax." She looked back out and tried to find the wall again. It had disappeared into the brown, and try as she might she could not catch even a fleeting glimpse. "Do you feel safe in China? I mean, from enemies?" "From Spain?" the sergeant looked almost surprised by that question. "Well, yes. The Comintern is one united front, and it spans across one tenth of the globe. I cannot imagine this country being in danger. This is the safest place to be if you still fear your enemies." "That is good to know." Azima smiled. "The most important thing is that Tewodros is safe." she reached out and mussed her child's hair. "And Olivier." Taytu's child was still asleep and buckled into his sleep. He hadn't talked for the entire journey. "I think that young gentleman has the right idea." the sergeant said, motioning at Olivier. "We should be preparing for Beijing. Landings in this plane can be bumpy." "Yes." she fumbled with her seatbelt. "I remember Tehran." -- The sergeant had been right - the landing was rough. When they finally came to a stop, they found the greeting party to be lack-luster. Mostly it was a small number of Ethiopians - the staff of the Embassy, Azima had no doubt - and a handful of Chinese diplomats waiting along with their guards. The Ethiopians were waving small three-pronged banners in their national colors, and they cheered when Azima stepped off the plane. There were so few of them, however, that the noise was hardly impressive. From the air, Beijing was a stunning city. It stretched on forever, pouring from the western mountains like a flood and spreading for miles across the surrounding plain. From the plane, the only landmark Azima had been able to discern was the ancient red-roofed palatial complex at its heart, surrounded by miles of metropolis on a grid of criss-crossing streets. Before Beijing, she had never seen anything bigger than Kinshasa, and that city was spread thin across the bogs at the widest part of the Congo river. Beijing was something else. Beijing was an entire nation of its own; an empire on display. But when they had reached the ground, all of that disappeared behind imposing cypresses and the wispy leaves of eastern Jujubes and Chinese Scholar Trees. Beijing became distant towers poking above greenery, and neighborhoods clinging to mountainsides. "Your Imperial Majesty." Ambassador Fulumirani said softly, bowing down to kiss her on the hand. He was a thin, middle aged man with a head of salt-and-pepper hair and a calm look about his face. His skin was the coffee tone of Sub-Saharan Africa - he was from Swahililand, she assumed. The mix of diplomats and embassy employees in his entourage bowed when he did. "It has been a tiring journey." The Queen said curtly. "The children and I will need to rest before we move to our permanent residence." "We have temporary accommodations in the Embassy, of course." Azima nodded. "Good. Good." she turned to the Chinese delegation and waited with dignity for their greeting. The Chinese bowed - it was not the deep, reverent bow the Africans gave to their Queen, but the stiff bow of respect she had saw men from China give even to their own kind. "I am pleased to meet you, Empress Azima. And I deeply regret your loss. The people of China give their sympathy to you. I am Wen Daohang." said the old man at the front of the Chinese contingent. He bowed slowly, his movement hampered by his advanced age. He was wearing an all-black suit in the Chinese style, buttoned completely up the front in a way that made the collar look stiff and tight. "If there is anything you need during your stay, my office is the one to contact." Azima smiled. "That is kind. My husband and I have nothing but appreciation for your country." Wen Daohang bowed his head politely. "Your quarters are ready in Tianjin. Chairman Hou has invited you to be his personal guest on his estate. When you are ready, we will send a car." There was a twitch of uncertainty in the depth of the Queen's mind just then. It was strangely presumptuous for an old bachelor like Hou to invite her to live with him. How open was Chinese culture to things like this, or was this a breach of custom afforded to the most powerful man in the nation? Yaqob trusted Hou sincerely, and Azima had complete faith in her husband's judgement. She considered that, had Yaqob never met Hou, she would have been offended by Hou's offer. "Thank you, gentlemen. The last few days have been taxing. I am exhausted, to be blunt about it." Azima said. "This afternoon then." Daoheng smiled. She had been hoping to stay the night in Beijing, but Daoheng spoke before she could say so. "Alright." she replied, wondering why he had suggested a time at all. "The embassy will call your office when I am prepared. In the mean time, we will go with the Ambassador. The children will need a nap before we leave." "I will drive." Fulumirani approached Daoheng. "Some of my people will need a lift to the Embassy though. Can your office work that out?" "Of course. That will be no trouble at all." Daoheng turned to Azima and bowed again. "It was an honor to meet you, Queen Azima. When we meet again, I hope there will be pleasant news to discuss." "So do I." Azima answered. Everyone dispersed, and Azima climbed in the back of Fulumirani's car. -- Tewodros stared out the car window, completely awe stricken by the Chinese capital. Azima could not help but be impressed herself. They drove along neatly-placed highways that rose above the surrounding area, giving them a view across the rooftops to the forested hills that interspersed the city. Beijing was tightly packed. It was a mixture of ancient homes with slanted roofs and brutalist monstrosities that stuck out like sleeping turtles in the urban sea. This place was, from hill to hill, completely urban; something that she couldn't imagine Addis Ababa achieving in her lifetime. "Why did Daoheng seem to insist we leave the Embassy this afternoon?" Azima inquired. Fulumirani was driving the car - a compact but comfortable Chinese model with a dull, boxy frame and a plush crimson interior. An Embassy guard sat silent in the passenger's seat, leaving the Queen and the two children in the back. "He wants to get you out before you get tangled up in the election." Fulumirani explained calmly. "Africa is a big topic right now." "I might want to get involved in their politics." Azima replied. "If I am going to be stuck here while my husband fights this war at home, I am going to be active. I want to get China involved in the war..." "You do not have to worry about that, your imperial highness." Fulumirani said coolly. "The Third International has officially declared war on Spain. China is in the fight." Azima's heart fluttered. It felt like, after months of rain, the sun had finally came out. The Third International was not just China - it was the entire Communist behemoth in the east, and it was marching to war. Spain, the lonely aggressor, could not fight the entire world alone. "That is it then." she said. "Spain will sue for peace. Surely." "I don't know." Fulumirani shrugged. "Have you read the Walinzi briefings on the Sotelo regime?" "No" "I have to read them, and they are very interesting. Sotelo has been consolidating power. He cuts the opposition away... well, he's surgical about it. It is pretty impressive. The only power that can truly oppose him now is the military, but so long as he is a crusader, they stay with him." "So he can't end the crusade." she realized. "Or his power would evaporate over night. I don't know if even he realized it, but when Sotelo decided to bet on this war, he went all in. If he fails he loses his job." "If he fails, he is dead." Azima corrected. "Well, maybe not dead..." "There is no way down." Azima explained. "To have held so much power... the government couldn't just fire him and go on, he would be a liability. He can't retire. If he falls from grace, they will have to [i]kill[/i] him." "No disrespect, your imperial majesty." Fulumirani started. "But that is the way monarchies work. That isn't the way republics work." "I know the difference." Azima replied. "But I don't think the Spanish do." They left the highway and entered into the city itself. The roads cut through condensed rows of shops and workshops, and equally condensed homes. From there, the road climbed into forested hills, where the buildings were infrequent and ancient. "Is the embassy in the country?" Azima asked. "It is in a quiet part of the city." Fulumirani explained. "The area is lovely, I think you will like it." "They keep you far enough away that you can't see what is happening here." Azima pointed out. "We are allowed to come and go as we please, at least as far as Beijing is concerned." Fulumirani calmly explained. "But you are right, essentially. When Yaqob and I lived here, they kept us further away. But China is thawing now. They are more open to foreigners than they used to be." When they did finally arrive at the embassy, Azima was surprised to find it unguarded. It was a serene example of traditional Chinese architecture. The roof was slanted and tiled, and most of the building was made of wood and brown-grey brick. There was an extensive yard, and a wrap-around porch overlooking a thick green forest on one side and an old neighborhood on the other. Fulumirani pulled the car to a stop in front. "How long will it be before Daoheng gets impatient?" Azima asked. "I wouldn't wait past six." Fulumirani replied. Azima nodded. "Wake us up at six then. The kids are going to need some time. And so do I." -- By the time Azima and the children were ready, there was already a Chinese limo waiting in front of the building. They passed through Tianjin on the way. It was a port city - the port for Beijing, and it was just as busy as the city it served. Beyond the bustle of the modern port was the azure waters of the Sea of China. Here, ships from Manila and Saigon waited alongside those from Mombasa and Acapulco. This was the mouth of the Communist machine, swallowing goods from its vassals and allies who, in turn, purchased Chinese goods and weapons. Tianjin and Beijing was at the heart of half-the worlds economy. The Chinese driver made it a point to brag to the Queen about the African shops and businesses that had sprouted up in the foreign district. "My cousin owns a bike shop down there." the driver explained. "When I am in Tianjin, he always wants to take me to lunch at an African place near the docks. They call it 'Bosaso Market'. It is a great place to eat." "I would like to go down there some time." she replied. The driver seemed pleased by that. After Tianjin, the road followed the coast. The land here was flat - mostly trees, or miles of identical wheat fields stretching north toward the mountains. From there, the road went downhill toward the sea, and to Hou's estate. Chairman Hou did not live in a palace. In fact, his home was significantly less grand than the Imperial Residence in Addis Ababa. It was a quaint single story stone-and-shingle Chinese country home built along the beach, surrounded by modest gardens and the simplicity of nature. They came to a stop in front of the estate and the driver got out and opened the Queen's door. She realized, as she stepped out of the car, that there was only one house on the property, and her uncertainty over the Chairman's invitation grew. -- Hou sat in the comfort of an armchair. In his hands he held a wrinkled newspaper, the fine print running tightly-packed bands around simple black-and-white photos. The front page was proudly emblazoned with the image of him holding the cat that had gone to space, and the very root of that article ran at its sides, before continuing somewhere inside. In truth, it had not been the first time the elderly chairman had read that article, and he was on his second slow reading. Even in a process to retirement, a part of him wanted to know what was happening. And maybe for once and a while, to do so from the perspective of someone not involved. He looked up from his paper, off to the side a young guard fidgeted in the corner of the room. "Why don't you fetch some tea?" Hou asked in a low soft voice. He was getting bored, and his mouth was dry and parched. The guard looked over and bowed, and began his march towards the kitchen. Hou's living room was sparse, openly decorated. A rich, red armchair took the throne space of the room at the head of a low coffee table. And in modesty at the side stood the equally red couches. Underfoot the lightly colored hardwood floors of the room groaned as the guard made his way to the side-door to the kitchen. The entire room was lit from the outside. An entire wall was devoted to windows that overlooked the nearby ocean and the patio just outside. Reclining on the handrails a pair of guardsmen leaned and smoke cigarettes as they chatted, staring out into the rolling waves where fishing boats bobbed. "Comrade!" a man shouted, entering the room. Hou looked up from the paper and the young soldier stopped in his tracks to look up at the commotion. Standing at the far-side of the room an older sergeant went to attention, "The empress Azima is on her way." he declared. "She is?" asked Hou, he lowered the paper, gently tossing it onto the coffee table. Reaching for his cane he stood up on feeble legs. Ever since the stroke, his left leg refused to work as proper as the right and he hobbled half-way across the room. "The car from the ministry has just came into the drive, comrade." the sergeant added. Hou nodded, turning back to the younger soldier he rose a feeble finger, "Don't make that one, bring the whole pot." he demanded. The young man obliged, bowing before he scurried off through a door. A palpitating excitement beat in his chest. The last he had seen Azima was when Yaqob had been shot, and the memory carried an unnerving weight on the old man. But still, it had been many years. "Who's with her?" he asked. "The royal children." the sergeant added. "That's the better." Hou nodded. So they hadn't been caught up in a campaign game. -- There was a surprising lack of pomp in their arrival. Azima saw very few guards, and no horde of attendants. This seemed like the estate of a private citizen - a place of retirement for a man who had once pulled the strings for the largest Empire in the world. She envied him for his retirement. Her thoughts drifted to home, and for a dreamy moment she imagined this as her own future. Yaqob and his Queen, living the final days of their lives by carelessly making up for the youth they were never allowed to have together. They were politely motioned up the stairs by the few guards that were there, who were as professional and collected as they would have been if this place was completed crowded by onlookers. The door opened, and she felt the first hint of the cool air that filled the house's atmosphere. Azima made sure Tewodros was at her side, standing on his small legs as proudly as a Ras. They went inside. And there he was. Hou Sai Tang. The second Genghis Khan - a man who had taken control of one of the oldest nation's on earth and expanded its power to the edge of Europe. But that was not what he seemed to be here. What Azima saw was a kindly, brittle elder leaning into a simple cane. She could see that he had aged a lot since he had visited Ethiopia four years before. His face was softer now, and his skin drooped, but that only made him seem more approachable. "Azima." Hou bowed, "I'm happy to see you. I just ordered tea. But please, sit down." the old chairman invited. He lifted a hand off his cane and gestured out to the couches. "Who are these two with you?" Hou asked as he sat down, looking at the pair of nervous children at Azima's side. Hou noted with some uncomfortable horror that one was missing an arm. Azima performed her politic smile; a custom that had became second nature to her as Queen. She squeezed Tewodros' hand and looked down at him. "I think the young Abeto-hoy can introduce himself." Tewodros took the cue and stepped forward. There was in him the seed of Yaqob's natural charisma, and he waddled onto the floor with as much dignity as his two year old body could command. "I am Tewodros." he said in childish Amharic. "I am Le'ul." "He said he is Prince Tewodros." Azima repeated in Chinese, playing both the part of Walinzi translator and proud mother. "He will be turning two at the end of this week." Hou looked over at Olivier and Azima continued. "I believe you have met Princess Taytu. This is her adopted son, Olivier." "They look like they are great kids." Hou complimented. In truth though he had no experience. And suddenly a tinge of doubt came waddling much like Tewodros had on sharing a home with two boys as young as they. "Though, you must have had an adventure." he smiled, hiding that doubt for now as he sat, "And I imagine between us, business. I have to say unfortunately that we do not have a home prepared for you at this moment." Hou said from his chair. He thumbed his fingers against his cane as he looked across to Azima and the children finding a place to sit at the couches, "The home we gifted Yaqob during his tenure in China is again occupied by the local universities for wild-life research. And between us learning of your coming and your arrival we haven't found suitable accommodations. "In lue of this I'm offering you my hospitality. I have the room to spare, and you and the children can live here with me until your long-term residency is sorted out." With a stiff grunt he shifted in his seat, leaning on his side against the arm-rest. "I also suppose you'll want to inspire China to help. I'm not opposed to it, that much is known. But for now I'm incapable of spurring Congress itself to issue the formal declarations. On my behalf, if you so desire, you can speak with them. But with the Third International's recent deceleration of war on Spain over their invasion of your home we owe obligations. That'll make it easy, I figure. It's only a matter of time." Azima sat on the couch. She felt strange, after so many years in her station, being offered a seat by this elderly man, but she sat all the same. "I hope you can find another place for us. This is a foreign land to me and the children, and I am not used to sleeping in the house of another man. But I understand, and I know that my husband trusts you." "I'm sure you won't be bothered." comforted Hou, "And you'll have all the security here as you would have had at home. As will happen when we procure fitting accommodations." "May we see these accommodations, if you would be so kind?" Azima replied. She felt tired again - overwhelmed by so much foreign and new. He obliged and led them down the hall. Hou's home was serene - an atmosphere given to it by the skill of the architects and the sea that was visible through so many wide windows on its furthest walls. But their was another subtle air here that lingered in the shadowy corners and patterned wood beams. His house had a flavor of neglect. It wasn't that Hou himself was neglected; it was his life. His furniture was simple, and it followed a pleasing pattern like one might see in a Spanish advertisement, but there was no hint of who he was or what he had accomplished. There were no obvious personal effects, no evidence of family or friends. The Chinese Chairman knew how to surround himself with the appearance of happiness and contentment, but the truth stared out from the empty walls and the musty scent of aged wood. With the state slipping from his hands, Hou's world was empty. The room he led them two was equally lonely. There was one bed large enough for two adults, and a handful of dressers and shelves. One large window looked out across the sea, and under it was a bench that doubled as a chest. The floor was wood, save for an oriental rug that covered the floor. She realized that this would be her home for longer than she wanted, and in that moment she began to feel Hou's loneliness. Azima hadn't realized how quiet it had become until Hou spoke up. "Ah! the tea is ready."