-------------------------------------------- [u][b]Early September, Addis Ababa[/b][/u] -------------------------------------------- The bathroom smelled like soap and bitter smoke. They were beneath the foam, Livy's body slick and soft laying against his. Her portable record player rendered a slow instrumental. Sahle smiled wide as he watched her, her head barely above the foam, sucking on the joint like it were a nipple. This was exactly where he wanted to be. "I can't believe you've never smoked." Sahle said. She coughed and passed it to him. "I really haven't. The... musicians, they smoke. Their kind do. But... you shouldn't be smoking this stuff, actually." she slapped him playfully, "You're the elected of Jesus!" She giggled. Sahle looked wistfully ahead, through the smoke and at the fogged mirror. "I've heard the prophets used hashish. I think that is true. They were wise men. I should follow their wisdom." Livy giggled. The record player skipped. They both giggled. It was perfect. So absolutely perfect. The marble bathroom felt like a womb, holding in his world and everything he wanted in it, safe from his advisors and their politics. Safe from [i]Ras[/i] Hassan's war. "I don't know that I want to get married." she said causally. "That is a problem for another time." he said. He pulled her closer. The water sloshed. He felt her head against his shoulder, her body moving steadily with her breathing. He closed his eyes. The future could wait. But the future wouldn't wait. It knocked on the door. "Your Imperial Majesty." called a voice from the other side. Sahle exhaled, holding his lungs deflated, feeling deflated, hoping whoever wanted him would go away. "Your Imperial Majesty! There is news from the front." There was no avoiding it. He stood up. Water and foam dripped from him. He stepped onto the slick floor and went for the door. When he opened it, the air chilled his skin. The Paige looked surprised and worried. "Your Imperial majesty." he said, bowing. "The [i]Meridazmach[/i] begs the honor of..." "I'll be there." Sahle waved. The Paige left the room at a trot. Sahle looked back in, at Livy's pale head and shoulders above the foam, auburn hair soaked so it was now brown, a look like disappointment or concern on her face. The warmth of the bathroom hugged and beckoned him back in. He wanted to return, but his high was gone, and he had to do his duty. "I cannot avoid this one. But I want to see you tonight." She nodded. He dried off, put on robes, and left. The entire palace was cold to him. Paiges and guards watched stonily, statues without personalities. He hadn't put shoes on, and his bare feet felt like they were walking on ice. Only the sunlight, coming through windows in some places, seemed to bring any warmth. He was stuck. Was there any worse prison than royalty? Sometimes he dreamed of traveling like a gypsy. He could make music. He'd practice the Krar off and on, like he were working on his impossible dream. But it would never happen. He was stuck. He met them in the velvet trappings of the throne room. It seemed like most of his cabinet was there. Even chubby [i]Bejirond[/i] Medebew Fek-Yebelu, the Minister of Finance, wore a crisp white general's uniform like he were about to command troops any minute. "Your majesty." they all greeted. He waved his hand and walked silently across the room. They all surrounded a table covered in maps and charts. Sahle thought they looked like grown men playing a game in a coffeehouse. "We know where Ras Hassan plans to strike." said [i]Meridazmach[/i] Zekiros Argaw. He was a little thin man, but he seemed to puff up with confidence when he said this. Sahle didn't look him in the eye. He begrudged these men his lost comfort. "Where?" he said in a low tone. "Here." Zekiros pointed at the map, "He has amassed the bulk of his forces in Jijiga. I believe he plans to move on Dire Dawa." "It makes sense." Aleme Menigedi broke in. The Minister of Transportation was excited to be relevant in the war room. "Dire Dawa is the rail-hub that connects us to the coast. In many ways it is more important than the capital." A voice from across the room spoke up. "We are not forgetting the rest of the country, are we?" It was Desta. He walked in with the Queen Mother at his side. "If we send everything to the north, we will lose the south. Muslims in that area are already siding with the enemy." "We are sending Aleme with the Army of Transportation and Public Works." Zekiros said. Aleme made himself look particularly important. "Lawgaw and the Army of the Posts, Telegraphs, and Telephones are already there, organizing the local militias." "Lawgaw is not a military man, is he?" Desta insisted. "Ministry Employees versus a native rebellion and Somali warriors? Losing the south will lose the war." "We cannot defend everything at once." Zekiros replied. Desta bristled. Zekiros continued, "He who defends everything defends nothing. Hassan has massed his forces in the north. We will fight him there." "On ground he wants to fight on? Hassan is a clever warrior. Isn't it better to act..." "I know what you are going to say, Desta. No no. Do we bring the battle to him, across the Ogaden? Hundreds of miles of empty desert? I will put it in terms you understand. Your business will be damaged just as much if we lose connection to the sea." Desta said nothing. Sahle took sick pleasure in watching his ministers fight. Everyone else looked nervous. Desta finally spoke. "I do not think your tone is..." "This is war. It is my business. I will talk in whatever way gets my point across." Zekiros turned back to the map. "The terrain will protect us. I have gathered the professional army and they are coming, bit by bit, to defend those places. We have the air power too. Hector is putting his Airmen on a war footing. They will not be ready for the first battle, but they will be ready soon after, and we will bring power against the enemy they cannot contest." It was so neat and tidy. What was there to worry about? Sahle felt safe. "I approve this plan." he said. Zekiros looked up at him. "Do you want to lead this army, my Emperor?" "No!" Eleni spoke up, "My son is not a warrior. It will not be good for him." "Seeing him will be good for the soldiers. They want to know who they fight for." "They don't have to see him to do that! He does not have to stand in front of a machine gun..." "I did not suggest..." "It does not matter." Sahle interrupted. His frustration was bubbling into anger. Everyone looked at him with anxious eyes, except for Desta, smouldering on his own. Sahle spoke. "I will not go. I do not plan on playing little soldiers with you. I know my abilities and that is not one of them." Eleni looked thankful. "It is no matter." Zekiros replied "We have the things we need to win. I am bringing the great weapons of modern war to the field." -- Sahle did not want to see them. He did not care. But the rest of his cabinet insisted. They went out to the yard, to the edge of the fence beneath the whispering eucalyptuses where they could see down the hill. Big motorized beasts rumbled down the paved streets, bewildering the people of Addis Ababa. They did not come all at once, or in a steady line, but piece meal in little groups, accompanied by soldiers. No two of the armored tanks looked alike, so many bought from different places or at different times, and modified by their proud operators. Men streamed in groups equally haphazard. Most carried guns. Some were barefoot. A few had swords or spears. "There are proud professional soldiers marching with them." Zekiros announced. "Those men you see down there are mostly retainers sent by the northern [i]Makwanent[/i], or [i]shiftas[/i] coming out of the hills to fight infidels." "Daniel Gablogian lent me a book on military doctrine." Desta said creamily, "I didn't know war was so complicated. I wonder, do the [i]shiftas[/i] understand modern warfare? Do they know how to fight alongside tanks?" "Doctrine is good." Zekiros said, "I have read up on it. I keep up on all modern doctrine. No, it is not perfectly implemented, but why should it be? Do you think a Somali fisherman swinging a sword above his head will know what to do when faced with a tank? I would like to better prepare our armies, but it is not such a simple thing. War will prepare them." Another tank rolled by. Extra pieces of scrap metal were welded to it, making it look like it had been built in a garbage heap. But it was absolutely monstrous. Seeing it convinced Sahle of Zekiros' argument. Who could face down such a thing? Zekiros leaned in. "You will not command the armies, my Emperor?" he whispered. "No." Sahle replied bluntly. A column of soldiers walked by, wearing metal helmets with wide brims like steel pith helms. They all had shoes, held their guns correctly, and looked absolutely wonderful. Zekiros motioned to them like a proud father. Nobody said a thing.