A/N: Hi Everyone, here is what is pretty much the first of the equivalent of the Picture Dramas from Code Geass. Chapters that cover bits and characters that fill in the timeline, organisations, lore etc. you name it. This has been written by my very good writing friend, BlackManaBurning and myself. I would like to thank Black once again for agreeing to help me with this chapter. I most certainly hope to write again with Black for future chapters after clicking so well here and the level of detail, writing and so on that we ended up writing double what we originally planned to do.
Update 08/03/19: Black is writing the second main chapter of Roanapur Connection and we hope to have it out by next week, it's very nearly finished. We thank you for your patience.
Thanks everyone and enjoy the chapter.
Blackmambauk/Blackmanaburning
"The Golden Company has the motto "Our Word is as good as gold," which they have, for the most part, proven over the many years they have claimed to have operated as a merc company. They have rarely broken their contract and often it's the other party that did so. Which tends to end badly for them, as the sacking of Florence proved to the Pazzi when they tried to stifle the GC, or the switching of sides showed the Ottomans and Malcals during their invasion of the Middle East in early 20th century. So how does this relate to India? Well, when you are going up against the knights of Brtiannia, one needs the best company around to help with that. India...
India is supposed to be a religious country above everything else, Hindu, Muslim, Sikh and others take pride in their faiths and testify to their truth by breaking heads. Almost always it seems to stand for blind belief and reaction, dogma and bigotry, superstition and exploitation, and the preservation of vested interests. And yet I knew well that there was something else in it, something which supplied a deep inner craving of human beings. How else could it have been the tremendous power it has been and brought peace and comfort to innumerable tortured souls? Was that peace merely the shelter of blind belief and absence of questioning, the calm that comes from being safe in harbour, protected from the storms of the open sea, or was it something more? In some cases certainly it was something more. And will be once Britannia is kicked out of it for good."
-Ganabati Chief Engineer of the Production department in the Golden Company.
[Date: 06/04/1995 ATB, Time: 12:00pm, The Golden Company Headquarters, Westminster, London England]
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud…
The leather heel of Nathan's cowboy boots kept steady time for Ganabati in the clockless, windowless room.
Clouds of cigar smoke rippled beneath the few yellowing lights and nearly managed to conceal a conspicuous patch of mould-growth peppering one of the musty room's dankest corners.
Papers detailing Nathan and Ganabati's strategies concerning the situation in Asia coated the stately table before them in a sea of white and black ink, and passed between hands like Chinese whispers.
At the center of the sea of papers rose a silvery tower glistening with handmade treats, from simnel cake and arctic rolls, to savoury chocolate chip cookies and white-frosted chocolate cakes possessing the familiar, hearty scent of Bailey's Irish Cream.
Miss Body's fingers slowed over the keys for the first time in over an hour, according to Nathan's time, giving the kindly woman a moment's rest from her meticulous note-taking.
'Makes a man wonder why a woman with such talented hands would spend her days typing instead of making sweets at some famous pâtissierie,' Ganabati often wondered.
Nathan unlaced his fingers from in front of his face. He reached for a particularly large chunk of chocolate toffee, a severe expression dead-set on his pale face while his heel tapped the thick Persian carpet.
'Gonna' be a hole in the floor by the time this meeting's over.'
Ganabati's stomach gurgled like a lion's roar in the quiet room. He loosened the collar of his suit in an attempt to lessen the pressure, but it did little to quiet the churning of his stomach. He lifted his hand up to his splendid muzzle, but failed to stifle a loud belch.
'Fucking Newcastle Brown Ale.' Ganabati shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"Have a few too many spices with your dinner, eh, Paki?" Mr. Dink sneered from across the table.
Ganabati glared at Mr. Dink, the pansy-ass salaryman.
Probably got his moth-eaten grey suits from the estate auctions of other pansy-ass salarymen. He'd be perfect as an Accounts Director if it weren't for that cobweb-thin combover and a dented nose beneath his taped glasses—glasses and a busted-up nose you'd think would be reminder enough to Mr. Dink every time he looked in a mirror not to mess with Ganabati—that made men and women alike take one look at him and instantly back away before Dink even tried to kiss your ass.
While Ganabati glared, Nathan's stoic face cracked a tiny grin.
Nathan chuckled a little, and the tempo of his bouncing leg picked up, earning Nathan a sidelong scowl from Ganabati and an excited look from Mr. Dink.
Noticing Ganabati's eyes on him, Nathan's grin widened on his face. Nathan subtly gestured to Mr. Dink's crooked nose and glasses.
'Make up your damn mind.' Ganabati knew Nathan probably hadn't even noticed his slip. 'You're either on my side, or you're on theirs.'
Nathan gnawed on his toffee while sniggering right along with Mr. Dink. He laced his fingers again in front of his mouth, bringing himself back under control with a return to his stoic demeanor.
"We have many other operations already showing promise in Africa and Eastern Europe in our ongoing efforts against Euro Britannia in Turkey. What positive interest, in your estimation Chief Andre, will splintering our efforts to include the current situation in China bring to Golden Company?" Director Caspari inquired in his nasally Frenchman's tone.
"It's for those very reasons you mentioned, Director Caspari, that I've decided to include Asian expansion into Golden Company's plans," Nathan answered, his voice booming despite his laced fingers obscuring his lips. He continued,
"Golden Company claims it's the largest, most prodigious mercenary company in the history of the world. However, since the end of the Russian-EU war 5 years ago, we've stooped to merely cleaning up the messes of our beloved EU, operating more as guard dogs to low-ranked despots and local officials by protecting them from barely armed local militias.
"Unless we want to end up just like the ancient knight orders with histories not much unlike Golden Company's we've been so frequently tasked lately to wipe from the face of the earth, we must begin producing more than just a little 'positive interest' for our stakeholders.
"Operations within Asia at this time are of paramount importance to numerous backers of ours within the EU, including our mutual friend, Maharajah Singh the Third, concerning who will inherit the role of Emperor or Empress of China."
Miss Body's fingers whirred over the keyboard.
All eyes rested on Director of Logistics, Director Caspari, the nationalistic fop whose own connections with Italy and the Church made him feel entitled to think himself all-seeing and all-knowing. The man acted like he possessed the eye of God himself while he schemed away for his own self-interests in the names of others, all without getting so much as a crumb on his 'Ermenegildo-something-or-other' suits.
Goldilocks probably had his man's suit tailored to his gangly body while getting himself a manicure and perm on one of his frequent trips to "relax" in Essex.
Just as Miss Body's typing slowed, Director Caspari looked up from the papers clenched in his soft hands and at Nathan.
"Consider your comments regarding Golden Company's current state and our actions in relation to what you perceive to be our backers' apparent best interests duly noted, Chief Andre.
"Please keep in mind the fact that this entire proposal of yours and Mr. Ganabati's hinges on the upcoming conference Emperor Xiang is holding ending badly. I sincerely hope that all these considerations of yours in connection with the affairs of Asia don't end up going to waste."
Nathan, without faltering in the steady beating of his heel, responded in kind.
"The likelihood of anyone in attendance at the conference being able to achieve anything of merit in regards to quelling the unrest in China's southern regions and neighboring countries is a generous one percent."
Nathan held up a single finger and emphasized the point. He resumed,
"Many feeling threatened by China's actions in recent years aren't about to be pacified, and certainly not by some farce of a meeting among ineffectual elites. Consider India and our recent tryst with General Xinghe, for another example, and it doesn't stop there. Throw in all the pirating that goes on around Thailand, that China and Britannia have both taken an aggressive stance on, and you've got a pot of smoking oil that's about to catch fire and take the world along with it.
"And I want Golden Company to be right there when the world catches fire, getting first dibs on the glory while all the pretenders are left with nothing but charred scraps."
Ganabati absorbed the looks on the faces of the men around the table, all alight with their greed and in complete disregard for any stakes but those having to do with their own bankbooks.
'Greedy fucking white bastards. The "Council of Louis Friends" indeed. If they only knew how easy they were to manipulate, perhaps the whole world would be better off.'
Ganabati shifted in his seat.
How much longer were they going to keep him sitting in these goddamn uncomfortable chairs? Or did they just got a kick out of seeing him suited up like some street show monkey?
These useless meetings… didn't they understand the time to talk was over? They need to start moving as soon as possible to get ahead of the wave, not wait around until they're swept up in it.
Just sitting around, grinning from the sidelines… even if some of them had been halfway decent soldiers once, that's the only thing any of them knew how to do anymore. Golden Company may have once been founded on the golden rule, but now all it stood for was the golden rule which destroys everything but itself: the golden rule of ironfisted greed.
The soft aroma of patchouli reached Ganabati's huffing maw, calming the rage that always rose inside him whenever he found himself stuffed in this tiny cage of a boardroom.
Perhaps that was why he instantly to a liking to Miss Body when they first met, despite her being the sort of woman he never typically found himself attracted to: for the familiar scent she always wore and which reminded him of pleasanter days.
'Fuck the Newcastle piss to hell.' Ganabati wiped his sweaty brow, his rage suffusing with the mugginess of the room.
In his efforts to further subdue his temper, Ganabati took in a breath of air—but instead of the pleasant scent of patchouli, received an awful lungful of cigar smoke that made him bark like a gutter dog.
The gentle tap of a foot under the table got Ganabati's attention.
"Here," said the blonde woman conveniently seated beside Ganabati. She passed a lozenge from her skirt pocket to Ganabati beneath the table, bringing her hand uncomfortably close to his crotch.
She was the only one among the Golden Company higher-ups who could bear sitting beside any other than one of their own kind.
Madam Elizabeth Norwood, the only other Brit and woman in the room aside from Miss Body, was Nathan's direct superior as Golden Company's Director of Intelligence. Her professional smile and clean-cut suit and skirt attire little hid the aura of experience only possessed by those who'd waded in the gunky field among the seedy underworld's best. The stench stuck to a person like high-grade adhesive, regardless of whether they wore combat boots, converse shoes, or fashionable heels.
It wasn't her exotic looks that attracted him to her—Ganabati had seen more than enough pale women over the years for their charm to wear off long ago—but any man worth his balls couldn't help but do anything trying to catch the steely eye of a woman like her. Be they a revered King or a gutter rat, once Norwood had her eye on you, she'd have you strung along and spilling your guts in no time.
At least, until she put a 9mm bullet between your eyes.
And if what Nathan told him was true, Norwood was well worth the risk.
Not only was Norwood one hell of a woman and a soldier, but she treated Ganabati and Nathan both with equal respect, and recognized each of them for their superior capabilities in the field.
Ganabati gratefully accepted the lozenge. He didn't miss the piercing glare Norwood directed at Nathan when the man started fidgeting with a pen.
Nothing could hide anything from that burning gaze, not even Nathan's red sunglasses he insisted on wearing even in the windowless meeting room.
Nathan's foot stopped tapping and he set down the pen. He laced his gloved fingers together to the point Ganabati heard the fabric tauten.
Norwood analyzed the strategy report along with everyone else. She and the big-nosed Frenchman sitting in rather average business attire beside her—so average in fact, that it almost made him stand out in his averageness—Ganabati's direct superior and Director of Operations, Director Dubois, knew even before the meeting Nathan and Ganabati were presenting a sound strategy, a strategy formulated through the combined efforts of only the best of the best in Golden Company. Nathan wasn't Chief of Intelligence of Europe for nothing.
The only task remaining was for the other directors to provide their token stamps of approval. Only then could the real work resume.
Chief Director Leland, the one waving around his chopped Britannian cigar like some cheap cigarillo, was the only one left holding out.
A man with a sense of style even more outdated than old Mr. Dink's—probably one of the reasons Golden Company hadn't received a single renovation since he took the helm, but instead seemed to grow older and more out of touch with the rest of the world by the day—Leland wore his spotless suit and an off-yellow tie which matched only in their putrid ugliness.
'Wonder if anyone ever told him the best cigars are rolled by Indians?'
"We trust that our expectations with the outcomes outlined in this operation, should it be given the go-ahead, will be met then Mr. Andre and Mr. Ganabati?" Director Leland said, the honeyed tone dripping from his widening lips. "And that you will keep us in the loop with any developments?"
'Who does he think he is, some Britannian Aristocrat?'
Ganabati held his breath when another puff of smoke billowed his direction.
"Of course, Chief Director," Nathan said, his foot slowly tapping a new divot in the floor. "In fact, I'd say the outcomes expected by everyone in this room today are generously small, given the certainty of the events we've presented to you today, and that our true potential gains from these operations far outreach what we've had time to forecast in this brief meeting today. Even the smallest confidence is most benevolent of you, in this short time we've had to detail our extensive upcoming plans of operation."
"That went about as expected," Ganabati grumbled. He pulled off his tie and rolled his neck, cracking the bones to either side after being in there for another three hours due to Mr Dink wanting clarification on every part of what the operation would cost. "Fucking waste of time."
"We got what we needed. Whether the Directors actually trust or support us doesn't matter so long as we can keep operations moving forward." Nathan tapped the antique bust of some long-dead "famous" noble resting on a nearby pedestal with his cane.
Outside the dark, tucked-away meeting room where only those "privileged" enough were allowed to enter, a veritable parade of priceless—or rather, expensive—artifacts, paintings, and other relics lined the Golden Company's extensive, red-carpeted halls.
A brick rumored to be from Wressle Castle, removed from the estate by a member of House Percy to prevent the now-ruined castle from falling entirely into the hands of the Nevilles.
A pietra serena pedestal with meticulous geometric designs on its backside and a hastily plastered-over front, displaying a medal by Bertoldo di Giovanni commemorating the steadfast resilience of the Medici in their fight against the Pazzi…. to which the GC had switched sides during the conflict according to Nathan. A "true example of mercenary activities," as Niccolò would put it. Ganabati never cared for the overrated views of the man or other westerners who arrogantly think they can lecture anyone.
Innumerable flags both musty and new—with the most recent additions being those of the Bradow's ex-Britannian coat of arms, and the Malcal's Ottoman-inspired insignia—lined the gilded hallway, their polished hanging rods sparkling in the ample sunlight which poured through the outer wall's gigantic arched windows.
Two suits of peerless medieval-style armor stood guard over the elevator with axe and sword in hand.
"Wonder when they got their hands on these," Nathan whistled. He looked the suits up and down. "And not a single scratch on either of 'em."
Ganabati pressed the downward elevator button.
Ch-dun.
The elevator's gears clunked into motion.
Whrrrrrrrr…
"They're probably about as legitimate as any of the other toys decorating these halls," Ganabati belched. He thudded his fist over his chest and tried clearing the persistent gunk from his throat.
Ting!
The squeaky elevator doors sidled open.
Nathan followed Ganabati into the open-window elevator.
The agonizingly slow elevator creaked and clunked like it might fall any second. But even the chance of death was worth this rarely-used elevator's refreshing view of London and the many towers which pierced its wide blue sky.
The Golden Company could make as many claims to history as it wanted, but it was timeless views like these, as everyday as they were magnificent, which made true history.
With areas of the city still in tatters, with sections still cordoned off after a series of poison gas and sakuradite bombings during the EU-Russia war, Ganabati remembered seeing photos of children's eyes burning out, blinded or lungs filling up with fluid. The number of children under five admitted to hospital with Sakuradite poisoning shot through the roof in the years since then. Though none of that compared to what Ganabati saw in the Ukraine and Poland during the war.
Nevertheless, the people of London were their own proof of the city's resiliency, living each day in a city not many would argue was anything but the UK's beating heart.
Stately and historic buildings stood beside their sleek new neighbors. As always, the city forged ahead through the ages, persevering through the bombardments of war and reappearing from the smog of coal-fired prosperity into the cleaner-aired present of a sakuradite-fueled world.
Ganabati noticed how one level had a key mechanic locked in, apparently only the highest members of the Golden Company had access to it.
Nathan pressed down on several floor's buttons at once, and triggered a small light above the ancient panel to flash from orange to green.
The elevator doors squealed and sputtered slowly together, and caught frequently on their rusted wheels. Just as they were about to finally come together…
"Hold the elevator!" A female voice called.
Both Ganabati and Nathan automatically obliged the call. They stuck their hands in the tiny crack and forced the tired doors open again.
"Thanks," Madam Norwood said. She awkwardly stepped foot onto the elevator in her bare sheer stockings. Norwood dangled her pair of tan high heels—both terribly scuffed and one with a broken heel—each by a finger.
"Madam Norwood," Nathan and Ganabati both stepped aside, making room for her in the center of the elevator.
"Consider yourselves lucky you're men," Norwood sighed. She unapologetically eyed the two men's footwear. "These shoes cost five times more than a pair of tactical boots," she said. The elevator doors clattered shut behind her. "You'd think they'd last more than a single footrace against a bunch of mouthy lads. Let's see them try calling me a bus wanker when I'm wearing my Spetsnaz…"
Nathan spat out a laugh, nearly losing his sunglasses in the process. Ganabati suppressed himself from chuckling.
"You find something funny about that Nathan?" Norwood bumped her hip against Nathan, effectively shutting him up when she then refused to back off.
Ganabati would've broken out laughing himself at Madam Norwood's quick check of Nathan; the man could use a second person in his life reminding him not to be so quick to laugh out loud at others' misfortunes.
He would've laughed, that is, were it not for the way Nathan seemed so shook by the sudden contact.
"Aren't you meeting up with your daughter on the way home Liz?" Nathan tried changing the subject.
"She'll have to learn tactical ops soon enough," Norwood responded. She backed away just enough for Nathan to regain some small amount of his composure.
"Especially with all the protesting and social politics she likes to engage in. Though protests today are thankfully not as abominable as the ones during the strikes years ago."
"Yeah, the North remembers that all too well," Nathan quietly said. He looked toward the chiming Big Ben, his frame rigidly still with his hands clasped tightly over his cane.
Ganabati found it interesting that the cane was a military banter Regiment of Sussex cane. He noticed Norwood had raise a eyebrow at it once or twice in the past. It obviously meant something to Nathan for him to wield it around so openly.
"There were only seven of them." Norwood swung the pair of heels on her fingers. "Two Norwood women should be more than enough to bring a group of bawdy lads down a few notches."
The glittering open sky of London grew ever more distant and dark as the elevator sank below the horizon of rooftops.
"I don't doubt either of you in the slightest," Norwood commented. "You're both capable men. Aside from those honeyed plans you presented back there to my fellow directors, what's your real goal in all this?" Norwood looked specifically at Nathan,
"I want to hear it from you again. That you aren't betting the entirety of the EU and Britain's already precarious future in pursuit of solely your own goals."
"Every word I said in the meeting was true," Nathan responded. "We can't risk overlooking the situation in China like Golden Company did with the Britannians back when they left the Russian war behind and joined with Euro Britannia.
"London may have rebounded quickly, it always does thanks to the M25 elites like the other Directors constantly throwing their money around, but our comrades in Paris and Berlin struggle even harder with the damage they took that makes London's look tame. Not to mention the countless small boroughs in the North and smaller countries within the EU still struggling with the war's fallout today.
Ganabati jerked his head back in agreement.
Plenty of Ganabati's men had families in areas still in tatters after the war. As a father himself with a daughter currently studying abroad in Paris, he sympathized with their struggle to put food on the table, and did his best making sure they all had plenty of work to keep them on Golden Company's payroll.
Certainly it irked some in the Company—particularly Mr. Dink—to see so many jobs consistently filled by men with last names like Kapoor and Sudha, but so long as they got the job done, Director Dubois was more than content to continue hiring men with Ganabati's recommendation.
"But if we can gain a foothold in China, we can arrange trade deals with them on their resources and restore the entire EU to true prosperity unlike anything anyone's ever seen before…"
"That prosperity won't be restricted to just the EU," Ganabati interrupted Nathan's eurocentric tangent.
Whenever the man got talking about the people of the North in particular, Nathan tended to preach on and on until someone reminded him there were others who struggled just as much, even more.
"India and its people have just as much to regain by bringing the EU and China to the same side," Ganabati noted.
"Right," Nathan nodded. He glanced at his cane through his red-tinted sunglasses. "Operations will also give us plenty of leverage in Japan, with the Sumeragi's and other Kyoto Houses, even more so if the rumors that I have heard from Akira in Tokyo about Sumeragi Natsumi might be considering running for PM. Imagine it Liz, you could be crowning a new era in Asia. That will show up the old gits club at your former home of SIS."
"An Empress in China and a Female Prime Minister in Japan," Norwood mumbled.
A moment later, she grinned.
"I like the sound of that."
"And thankfully, neither one is a witch," Nathan spat. "Once we have greater access to valuable resources like sakuradite, steel without going through complicated imports with Euro Britannia-allied regions, more funding can go to other needs and increase quality of life for even the most marginalized citizens and our allies."
"The trickle-down effect," Norwood sighed. She leaned her shoulders against the glass wall. Norwood waved to a raggedy child eyeing the elevator from the street. "Everything's happening so fast lately, government policy simply cannot keep up."
"I trust you'll take the steps necessary to ensure they do Liz," Nathan commented. "I already have my contacts in the Houses of Parliament and Lords doing what they can to ensure everything will be in place to funnel funding where it needs to go once resources begin flowing in. But we'll need far more people on our side to ensure things don't get stopped up in the South."
"These things take time Nathan," Norwood shook her head. "This isn't as simple as dealing with a bunch of snot-nosed street urchins."
"As far as I'm concerned, even the most wretched street urchin in the North is worth more than a dozen Southerners content to sit around bemoaning their tea coming five minutes late."
If only Nathan realized how much his constant bemoaning the condition of the North made him sound exactly like the very pompous and entitled Southerners he despised.
In fact, Nathan was even worse. While many like Ganabati fully understood the necessity of wiling the time in wait for their tea to cool, Nathan always made it plainly obvious he wanted nothing less than to down his straight from the piping kettle.
The elevator reached ground-level, trading the street view of London for a concrete wall.
"And what about you, Mr. Ganabati?" Norwood narrowed her sharp eyes on Ganabati. "I'm sure your meeting with the Singh's today is for no mere afternoon tea."
"While many in India do enjoy chatting over their British teas, many more prefer spending their lazy afternoons enriching their souls in meditation and prayer," Ganabati replied.
"Regardless of how a man chooses to spend his afternoons, what makes you and the Maharajah think India can regain its freedom and not be swallowed right up again?" Norwood pressed.
"Nothing outlined in these reports is foolproof assurance you'll have the strong allies necessary to preserve India's independence should the country come back under local rule."
"You need not worry yourself over us, Madam Norwood. With India backing Hui Ying as Empress over her Warmongering brother, if the rumors are true in her father stepping down at the conference, our long-awaited independence is assured."
"Your confidence is as infectious as it is admirable Mr. Ganabati," Madam Norwood chuckled.
"The confidence of a drunkard may be infectious, but it's hardly admirable," Nathan rejoinded. He poked his cane at Ganabati's girth. "Good thing you're so dark, or your red cheeks would've given you away. What sort of man gets drunk on two Newcastle Browns?"
"Must be something in the Thames conditioning your English livers over the last few thousand years," Ganabati threw back. "Nothing so foul could ever come from Ganges water."
"Ever since Sakuradite took over for coal, the Thames actually has become fair bit more pleasant. A little silty and often a dumping ground for fly tippers, but pollution is nowhere near as bad as it once was," Norwood added. "If only we could make some headway on supplementing refined sakuradite with hydroelectricity on the way to other more renewable sources of energy…"
The elevator reached the very bottom of the deep shaft, and commenced its squealing, laborious opening.
"You're meeting with Smilas next. We'll need him working seamlessly with us to ensure things move smoothly forward into the next stage," Norwood said. She inched closer to Nathan, but slowly enough that she didn't take him by surprise.
She set her free pink talon tailored hand on his forearm.
"Operations aside, how is my best operative doing Nathan?"
"I'm fine," Nathan assured her. He tightened his fingers around his cane. His deeply scarred cheeks made his slightly downturned lips appear no different from a wide grin.
Madam Norwood frowned. "Is that so?"
'Fucking idiot. What's the point trying to keep a secret from your superior, especially when she's Director of Intelligence?'
Nathan, apparently sensing the mood correctly for once, loosened his grip on his cane.
Ganabati's hulking frame blocked the inside of the elevator from view in the brief moment Nathan brushed his hand over Madam Norwood's on their way out.
"I'm fine Liz," Nathan mumbled. "Truly."
"If you insist," Norwood whispered back. "But if you ever want to chat, my door's always open."
While the Golden Company's aboveground presentation was one of a proud and respectably ancient company with a storied past, what the trio encountered once they emerged from the elevator was a world completely unconcerned with preservation of ancient relics and artefacts.
Gone were the stale air and mouldering walls, replaced by the whirring of industrial fans and silvery metal sheeting.
This was a world dead-set on being the origins of what would become the latest in cutting-edge technology unlike anything since the industrial revolution.
The aromas of iron and oil permeated every corner of the large room. Hydraulics hissed and wheels turned.
Slightly outdated Europa Mechanica M-17 Workloader frames hefted gigantic crates stuffed with the latest in robotic advancements—everything from huge mechanical arms to rocket launcher-sized handguns—between the varied assembly lines and testing areas of the department.
Men's voices echoed off the metal sheeted walls. They were barely understandable amid the din of mechanized activity.
That is to say, Nathan and Norwood couldn't understand them. But Ganabati…
"Arrey, Ganabati!"
One of the engineers shouted in greeting at the trio currently being swept along to their destination by a conveyor belt walkspace that moved at a convenient .58 meters per second. The man thrust his blackened wrench in the air, prompting Ganabati to respond in kind.
"Arrey, Raje!"
The man with the wrench jumped down from an opening in the sleek, boxy machine he stood on.
Inside the shell of steel numerous buttons, knobs, levers and a small monitor were centralized around a rather comfortable looking chair.
The Golden Company, misers with anything other than what they themselves saw as an asset or way to show off their wealth, opted for a more modern, less comfortable interior design for the pilot's pod. It was on Ganabati's insistence, however, that more comfortable chairs were put to use. If users of the next-generation frames were expected to put their lives on the line for the Company, the least the Company could do was provide them with a decent working space.
The man with the wrench shouted a series of orders to those nearby, prompting everyone to pack up and clear out the area around the glittering pod.
"What'd he say?" Nathan glanced over his shoulder at Ganabati.
"They're ready to install the assembled pod in its frame."
"Where's the frame?" Nathan looked around. Only pieces and parts of what would supposedly become a next-generation war frame—an idea that only recently gained any real traction outside Britannia—lie in sight.
"We'll see it before we reach the Intel Department," Ganabati pointed in the direction the moving sidewalk led.
Before Ganabati could even finish, Nathan smoothly hopped over the sidewalk rails.
"There he goes," Madam Norwood commented. She shifted on her feet. "It's days like these I'm glad I always keep a pair of boots in my office."
Nathan made a beeline for the nearest M-17. He hopped up into the machine alongside its usual operator, and in seconds had it moving with the precision of a seasoned professional.
He followed the instructions of the engineers to the letter and safely transported the pod to its destination where the conveyor belt sidewalk came to an end.
'The man's skilled,' Ganabati nodded with pride and stepped off the end of the moving sidewalk.
Thankfully no one needed to tell Nathan it took more than skill enough to operate a workloader to properly align the pod in its frame. Nathan swooped down from the M-17's cockpit, and an engineer took his place in the operator's chair.
"Can't wait to give these next gens a try," Nathan whistled. He swung his cane in circles, betraying a boyish excitement for once befitting of his age.
"Keep hopping around like a rabbit and you might end up needing to use that cane first," Ganabati guffawed.
"Not before you, old timer," Nathan quipped in return.
The trio arrived at a reinforced door in the solid metal wall. Embedded in the wall were a keypad, swipe slot, and a scanner.
Madam Norwood reached into her skirt pocket and produced a lanyard with an attached keycard.
She swiped the card through the slot. One of three tiny LEDs lit up beside the handle of the door.
Norwood placed her hand on the palm scanner. After a flash of green light, another tiny light beside the door's handle flashed on.
She finished by punching an impossibly long series of dozens and dozens of numbers into the keypad faster than Ganabati could count, much less ever hope to remember.
The third light flashed green.
A series of clicks, clatters, and thunks sounded while the secure door unfastened its many locks.
"Bweep-bweep-bweep," Nathan mimicked the sound of a failed pin entry, a sound Ganabati was plenty familiar with.
"Those are some nice cowboy boots," Ganabati noted. "Would be a damn shame if they were to get full of vomit with your feet still in 'em," Ganabati didn't bother holding back his gurgling belch.
"Need I remind you two to behave like residents of the civilized world in your meeting with Smilas?" Madam Norwood turned the door's handle, but didn't push the door open.
"That's pretty rich coming from a woman who chases lads down while wearing high heels," Nathan chuckled.
"I've done a lot more in heels than chase down lads," Norwood responded, her amiable smiling face turning upside down. She glared daggers into Nathan's sunglasses. "I don't need to demonstrate, do I?"
"Check yourself," Ganabati nudged Nathan with his elbow to remind him of who he was speaking to. Nathan always got cheeky whenever he became too giddy.
Finally noticing himself, Nathan folded his fingers tight over his cane, regaining his controlled composure in an instant.
"No Ma'am," Nathan said. His voice lost its earlier giddiness and turned cold and hard as steel.
"I want you two to take a moment to compose yourselves before meeting with Smilas," Madam Norwood advised. "Alright?" Her dark expression relaxed into a cheery smile, and she pushed open the door.
Just as when they disembarked from the elevator, an altogether new scene greeted the trio.
The industrial look of the Development Department gave way to that of a simple reception area with a frosted door to the rear. It wasn't unlike what one would see walking into any run-of-the-mill office building.
With the door shut behind them completely blocking the noise from outside, the soothing sound of Mozart took over and completed the illusion of blasé normalcy.
"Madam Norwood," a woman sitting at the reception desk nodded to the three. She pressed a buzzer, and the pair of tempered, frosted glass doors at the rear of the room slid smoothly open.
Beyond the doors was another room which instantly broke the spell.
"…Princess of China, currently en route to…"
"… without the support of Labor Unions which their forebears…"
"… Bradow von Breisgau, a proponent of guaranteed rights for asylum seekers and defectors from Brtiannia…"
"… still reeling from Black Tuesday…"
"… one everyone's minds is: 'What will be the response of Britannia to…"
"… the rampant rise in illicit drug use among youth demographic in the UK…"
"… possible expansion on oversight of Euroforce, judicial law and the Council of Forty is being contested…"
"… the housing market continues to suffer in Liverpool and most of Northern England with interest rates yet to recover from Black Tuesday…"
A circle of televisions each set to a different news channel, some spouting languages other than English, voiced the concerns of dozens of countries all at once to the room's occupants who either scurried around in whispering haste, or sat plunking away at their computer keyboards.
Everyone was on the move, except for a rather pudgy, short woman with off-blonde hair tied in a spiraling bun. Her skin glowed with just a hint of islander brown, perhaps from one of her prideful forebears once falling to exotic temptation, only to end up permanently marring the family tree.
Her steady gaze hung over a single television displaying a video of who Ganabati already accepted as China's future Empress, Hui Ying, at a conference earlier in the year.
"How's Sumeragi's stock looking Elena?" Nathan called out.
Without taking her eyes off Hui Ying, the pudgy woman responded, "Sumeragi and Kururugi stock are both plummeting. Sumeragi's is looking particularly bad."
"Damn." Nathan scratched the back of his head. "I'm gonna' swing by the loo," Nathan said.
"Now's the best time to invest if you mean to poise yourself for their rebound," Elena advised. She removed her eyes from the television only once Hui Ying flashed off the screen, and the topic switched to sport news.
"Thanks Elena," Nathan waved back at her. "Be back in a minute Ganabati. Looks like there's fresh coffee," he added, hinting for Ganabati to wait.
"In other news, Newcastle reigned victorious over Mumbai…"
'Damn Newcastle.'
"Take all the time you need," Ganabati grumbled. He turned his nose toward the aroma of the fresh brew.
The inviting scent filled him with just enough energy to slog over to the pot and pour himself a piping hot cup of coffee. He brought the steaming cup up to his lips.
'Tastes like mud. I'd rather have some of Balaprada's spiced tea.'
"The meeting went just as expected," Madam Norwood told Elena. She handed Elena a data disc. "Here's that additional background information you asked for on Hui Ying. At this point there's not a thing we don't know about her. We could prepare a perfect double, right down to the size of her shoes, if necessary."
"Thank you Director Norwood. This information will be a great help," Elena accepted the disc with both hands and whisked it over to her computer.
Pinned upon the walls beneath the televisions were maps, documents, and photos of various persons of interest. They were displayed in a way which presented the larger picture at a glance to those who knew the significance of each piece to the puzzle. No one photo stood out, except for two, the first being a portrait-size, gilt-framed image of Hui Ying, centrally located before Elena's workstation.
Just as her portrait loomed over everything, Hui Ying rested at the center of all, the point on which the upcoming fate of the world would turn.
Other noteworthy photos pinned near the coffee maker and which Ganabati leisurely studied while he sipped away, were of a familiar russian from the Battle of St Petersburg and from Afghanistan, one Ex-Major Vasili Laptev of Russian intel. Greedy twat sold out his rivals' position and safehouses in exchange for being spared, the photo of him being taken while he dined at what looked like a Tokyo restaurant with some tattoo wearing japanese persona. With additional photos of him and his men being thrown out on his arse.
Rumors Ganabati heard were that, like many Russians in the army and intel had turned to crime after the end of the war. No surprise a grubber like Vasili made his way into the Hotel Business.
Minutes later, just as Ganabati downed the last few drops of his coffee, Nathan returned.
"Sobered up enough?" Nathan commented with a sly grin.
"Think you'll be able to keep it together?" Ganabati set down his cup beside the coffee maker.
"It'll be fine," Nathan smirked. He wiped his hand on his trousers as the two men left the operations room behind and returned to the reception room. "I think I'll have Lucious help us out."
"I'd refuse having that snake coiled around my shoulders even if it wasn't a fucking stereotype."
The two men left the bustling operation room behind and returned to the reception room.
"Mr. Smilas is waiting for you in your office, Chief Andre," the receptionist said. She pressed a buzzer, and the lock on a side door clicked.
Nathan swung the door open, and led the way down the long, narrow hallway.
'Why do the English fancy narrow spaces so much?' Just standing in the doorway made Ganabati feel claustrophobic in his own skin.
"You must admit though, you look even more intimidating with Lucius around your shoulders!" Nathan's scarred cheeks made his smile look even larger. He twirled his cane in one hand.
'Perhaps I could," Ganabati amused himself with the thought.
Although it pleased Ganabati to know Nathan enjoyed putting Lucius to use both for his own sake and in meetings to get a read on others, Ganabati himself despised the feeling of that snake sliding its scales over his skin, right along with Nathan's tendency to perch the creature on Ganabati's "magnificent frame."
Still, Ganabati had to admit: he found it amusing recalling the ashen faces of those who took in the image of a hulking Indian like him with a cobra hanging on his arms while they let their minds run wild.
But with Singh set to arrive soon, the last thing Ganabati wanted was for his saviors to catch sight of Ganabati perpetuating a stereotype.
"Perhaps next time," Ganabati said. He released the door behind him, expecting it to catch on the mechanism that would close the door smoothly.
However, for some reason the door didn't catch behind Ganabati, and instead slammed into its frame.
BANG!
Something clattered on the bare floor and grabbed Ganabati's attention.
Ganabati looked ahead to find Nathan frozen halfway down the hallway with his hands clasped tightly over his ears. Nathan's cane and sunglasses lay on the floor beside his feet. His breathing echoed across loudly.
"Apologies," Ganabati said. He carefully walked up behind Nathan and picked up his cane and sunglasses.
"Damn cheap Britannian door stoppers," Nathan hissed. He removed his shaky hands from his ears. "Wouldn't even need them installed if they just made all the doors motion-sensing or button-operated like I told them." Nathan took back his sunglasses from Ganabati. He wiped the lenses and frame meticulously clean on his trousers before putting them on. "Goddamn fire codes my arse…"
"Again, I'd like to thank you for meeting with us today on such short notice. I imagine it was difficult breaking away from your military duties, however, I wanted to update you on where things stand now that the Directors here at Golden Company have been brought onto the same page," Nathan said. He sat at his desk, posed with his hands folded in front of his lips exactly like in the meeting with the Directors.
If only that weren't the only similarity, Ganabati inwardly sighed.
While the Directors spared little expense flaunting themselves and their money to outsiders, Nathan's preferences rested on the opposite side of the coin.
Nathan furnished his office cheaply, with plywood shelves and a thin desk. The only things on his desk were a tin of Uncle Joe's Mint Balls, a favorite of Nathan's, which Ganabati found interesting that they were from a town most foreigners never heard or knew of according to the tin as he checked at one time Nathan was not in his office. The town that is Wigan, of the northerner tour Nathan had once taken him on of the cities and towns, Wigan was not one of them.
'I wonder… what is that town to you Nathan.'
A scratched standing-lamp stood in one of the corners and looked like it belonged in a dumpster. To save time and space, instead of the hard, sturdy, hand-carved chairs the Directors preferred, Nathan put to use twig-legged folding chairs which made Ganabati hesitate to seat himself.
However, despite how cheaply Nathan furnished his office, that didn't make it barren by any means.
Countless books (some had been given to Nathan by Mr Ken what was along with himself, The merc mentor to Nathan, during one of their merc tours in Southern Asia and tour in Russia and contained a mix of Japanese history books, the novel Pinocchio and philosophy books), artefacts of truly priceless value, collected by Nathan himself during his wide travels, were meticulously shelved around the room. Of these many artefacts, an ancient statue of the Celtic goddess Danu—Ganabti found it most peculiar that Nathan worshipped a Celtic god, considering his name and background all pointed to him being Saxon—a framed and slightly discolored wrestling poster of Oboro Iga and Saburo Kirihara vs Dai Wagashi and The Beast from the East, and a bronze plaque with the inscribed quote: 'I know that I know nothing.'
Hanging behind Nathan on the wall was a lavishly adorned portrait of Lady Queen Elizabeth the First. It was one of the few items Nathan would call his most "prized possession." Ganabati caught Nahan staring at it for up to an hour at one time, not moving his body at all as he stared into Elizabeth's eyes.
While these many mainly old trinkets gave the room a somewhat musty and aged smell, there was one glaringly current thing in Nathan's office, something he spared no expense on when he had it installed…
Almost an entire wall of glass displayed what appeared to be a slice of Indian jungle, with a newly installed electric sliding door off to one side. Bright heat lights lit a single open space in the terrarium and kept the interior at a balmy and humid interior temperature perfect for its main inhabitant, Lucius, who rested lazily on a hot stone with his belly full and bulging.
'I admire your determination to spend only on things you deem worthwhile, however, for a man who is Chief of Intelligence of Europe to meet with a Colonel of the EU's army over such a shoddy desk while Lucius sups on imported mice makes me question your priorities somewhat.'
"It's no trouble. I happened to be in the area for another meeting in regards to a request for military aid in policing more devastated areas surrounding London, so this fit quite well into my schedule," Smilas said.
Colonel Gene Smilas, a proper Brit if Ganabati ever saw one. With his hair and facial trimmed like a dutiful soldier in his uniform, he presented himself in a way befitting a man of such esteemed accomplishments. His presence as star pupil of the Greeks made him a well-known representative among the European military, only serving to further elucidate what sort of man could emerge from the messy Russian-EU war with such a resounding record of success.
In the presence of such a tried-and-true soldier and proper diplomat, Ganabati couldn't help but feel just a twinge of displeasure at how Nathan presented himself. Ganabati knew Nathan could present himself better, however, while he took advice on how to dress himself proper, the man simply refused to listen to reason when it came to his personal tastes in furnishing and décor.
The Lieutenant Colonel, Romero, Ganabati was certain that was his name, stood at nervous attention beside Smilas. The Lieutenant Colonel glanced now and then at Lucius, whenever the snake so much as blissfully twitched its tail. Tears of sweat beaded over the man's forehead and were visible despite the peak cap he wore that had the crest of the EU amblazoned on it.
'If a sleeping snake behind a wall of glass is all it takes to put you on edge, you're at the end of your advancement in the military.'
"Did you agree to the Lord Mayor's request?" Nathan raised an eyebrow.
"Certainly not," Smilas shook his head and chuckled. "Shooting down civilians trying to escape more impoverished areas is what's gotten the military into the position we are now, where we're told to abandon our guard against Britannia to protect frightened leaders from their own dissatisfied people."
'A familiar story,' Ganabati glanced at Nathan. 'Without the military or organizations like Golden Company to protect them, perhaps leaders might finally start acting in their people's best interests again instead of merely thinking of their own.'
"Operations are going just as smoothly as expected, thanks to the connections of Golden Company," Smilas nodded. "Your introduction to Bradow has yielded a fine friendship. The man shares so much in what we believe the EU should be."
"I thought you two seemed like you'd find you're of similar minds. I'm sure he and Claudia are enjoying having the White Wolf as their home again. Not bad for a family that left their home and people to dry for nearly 200 years." Nathan said, the tone of his voice making clear his thoughts.
Ganabati just rolled his eyes on another of Nathan's enlightened comments on nobles, and ignored the latter part.
"Indeed." Smilas grinned. "I'm quite impressed with how things have proceeded. It's uncommon to find men with a mind and capabilities like yours who are also willing to work with the military for no compensation."
"I'm glad to be working with a man of your caliber. Fighting alongside you in the final battle in Moscow, your help in Afghanistan with the Spetsnaz, and... in Romania as well…" Nathan trailed off a bit, his eyes for a moment flashing with hatred and disgust beneath his glasses.
Ganabati knew that look. What they saw that day… the sight of those kids. Few people could stomach it. It certainly left him with a few restless nights when Nathan yelled out in the barracks. And he thought he had seen enough to make him immune to such thoughts.
"All I ask in exchange is that you continue working with us, and convince your superiors it's in their best interests to do the same," Nathan said.
"I'm honored to continue working alongside you for as long as possible," Smilas said. "I'm too indebted to you at this point to even consider refusing." He offered Nathan his hand.
'Don't make a fool of yourself,' Ganabati watched Nathan hesitate.
Before Smilas could notice Nathan's hesitation, a rapping at the door grabbed everyone's attention.
A moment later, the mechanical door slid open and revealed Elena standing at the other side.
"Chief Andre, Priestess Kayci is on the line," Elena said. "I have her waiting on call in Room 11."
"Kayci!" Nathan swiftly rose from his seat.
Ganabati and Nathan weren't expecting to hear from her just yet; it put them in a rather tight spot.
"I see you're a busy man," Smilas observed, standing up. "If we're done here the Lieutenant Colonel and I can get out of your way—"
"Come along, Colonel," Nathan beckoned his hand. "She will want to talk to you as well. Ganabati, let's –"
Ganabati was just about to follow after Smilas, Nathan, and the Lieutenant Colonel, but stopped in his tracks when the flowery scent of rosewater wafted into his nostrils.
He didn't need Elena to announce the arrival of their other guests.
"Maharajah Singh and his wife have arrived to meet with you as well, I can have them wait if you'd like," Elena offered.
"Chief Andre, you can fill me in later on your meeting with the princess," Ganabati looked at Nathan. "It would be rude to ask either Kayci or the Maharajah and his wife to wait."
Nathan and Ganabati knew they couldn't afford to ask either party to wait for the other.
"Alright Ganabati," Nathan nodded. "I should be back within a half hour."
'Good. That should be plenty of time.' Ganabati didn't want to come off as rude diving straight into business talk with the Maharajah without at least offering a proper reception first.
With that, Nathan and Smilas left the room to go speak with the priestess.
In their place, a cacao-skinned man who radiated the sort of authority and power an Emperor of Britannia could only wish to possess, stepped into Nathan's office.
Dressed in a deep mauve bandhgala decorated with a fine and subtle swirling embroidery, the man stood with a straight back which seemed of the sort that would never bend to wield a cane regardless of how many years might pass. His well-managed beard bespoke of a wise and wholesome life deeply seated in tradition, while at the same time his manner of dress hinted at a conjugant union with the wider world.
A man like this could be none other than the exiled Maharajah, Dalip Singh.
"Namaste," Ganabati mumbled. He brought his hands together before him and lowered his head. The Maharajah greeted Ganabati similarly with pressed-together hands, however, without bowing.
"It is good seeing you again, Ganabati," Singh spoke in his distinguished voice.
"I am well. I trust you are in good health? " Ganabati said in return.
"I am in good health, thank you. The scenario of us finally returning to our home after decades away from it fills me with vigor I thought I left in my youth," Singh responded.
Such simple smalltalk as this would only frustrate the focused Nathan, yet it filled Ganabati with joy to speak with the one man he held such high esteem since first meeting the man in his youth. It pleased Ganabati immensely that he could assist his savior in achieving his goals of a triumphant return to an independent India so many years after he received the great man's merciful aid.
"Thank you for your assistance Miss Burgin," spoke a soft, feminine voice.
"It's no problem at all Mrs. Singh," Elena responded to the woman who then entered the room.
A woman embodying the fullness of Indian beauty, the Maharajah's wife, Balaprada Singh. The part of her dark hair glowed bright with sindoor powder, and a perfectly round bindi in the same color decorated the smooth skin of her forehead.
In her elegant plum-mauve sari perfectly tailored to her willowing form, she moved with grace and refinement in excess of even her husband's. Into her hair she tucked what looked to Ganabati to be nothing less than a fresh picked peony he remembered grew in the garden around the Maharajah's residence.
Ganabati also noticed the several rings on her fingers, each displaying an auspicious stone. The stones also perfectly matched in hue and shade to the refined colors of the fine hand-embroidery which decorated the border of her sari and blouse. Embroidery patterns which, Ganabati now noted, also matched Singh's bandhgala.
Balaprada formed the example to his ideal, the one woman in all the world which no other woman had yet to match. None had yet to come even remotely close to her in their refinement, or their simmering tenacity.
"Namaste," Ganabati greeted Balaprada with a bow. She greeted him in return, however, without bringing her hands completely together due to holding a small, embroidered silk bundle in her bejewelled hands.
"I hope you do not think it imprudent of me to bring both tea and a gift." Balaprada said. She proceeded to Nathan's desk where she set down her bundle. She untied the top and revealed a small, decorated thermos, four cups, and another small, silk packet inside. "I see Nathan won't be joining us?"
"Nathan will be along later on," Ganabati responded.
Balaprada opened the thermos, and instantly Nathan's office filled with the milky, spiced aroma of Ganabati's upbringing, a scent which could be smelled on nearly any street corner of India at all times of day.
"My, but they certainly seem to be making quite the bit of progress assembling the frames," Balaprada noted. "I do hope they live up to expectation." She presented Singh and Ganabati both with two steaming cups of hearty hazelnut-colored spiced tea infinitely better than anything the Brits "famous" for their teas could even comprehend.
'If only Nathan had a taste for anything other than sweets,' Ganabati took an appreciative sip of the tea which instantly cleared his head and filled his belly with calming warmth.
"It's such a shame how Nathan neglects to fill us in with more detail in his reports," Balaprada sighed. "We want to help you both, yet he makes things more difficult than needed with all the running around he does without keeping us in mind. I taught him better than to be coy with us."
"The man doesn't do business the Indian way," Singh commented. He took a leisurely sip of his tea. "It's one of many reasons he and Golden Company have been so useful to us."
"Nathan's a lot more than useful. There's a reason I asked you to take him in." Ganabati said. He barely lowered his empty cup before Balaprada refilled it. "Because of him, you have your life today. A debt like that can't simply be forgotten."
"Certainly not," Balaprada added. "It was our hope he'd turn out to be as much of an asset as you told us he had the potential to become when we maneuvered the two of you toward Golden Company. To which thankfully, he has been with all the lessons and touch I gave him myself. Same with you Ganabati, your work has been vital to the continuing resistance against Brtiannia all these years."
"It's all gone quite as we'd hoped, hasn't it?" Singh nodded, stroking his beard. "It's unfortunate for us Nathan didn't get along better with Miss Bhai. I owed her father a bit of a favour. It pains me Nathan had such a promising young woman dismissed without considering what an inconvenience it would be for me. In any case, I suppose I can always extract something from him down the line for the hassle he caused there."
Ganabati winced.
Ganabati was glad Nathan wasn't in the room to hear this. Whenever anyone brought up Greenback Jane, Nathan tended to go off on a tangent about what a "waste of time and money" she was for constantly missing deadlines, going over budget or how rude and insufferable she was. Ganabati always stuck up for Jane telling Nathan she was worth the extra inconvenience, but once they really butted heads, Jane was just as happy to leave "for a better opportunity" with "people who would really appreciate her skill" as Nathan was for her to leave.
"Nathan doesn't know this, but I still contact Miss Bhai from time to time for smaller projects as needed. She's been of particular assistance in our dealings with the Germans," Ganabati revealed. He went on without thinking, "Apparently she's gone and engaged herself to some Britannian expatriate she met in Thailand, won't stop blathering about it whenever I contact her."
"Really?" Balaprada gasped. Her dark eyes widened and showed the pearly whites around her irises. "I wonder if the man her father arranged for her knows?"
Ganabati winced again.
The last thing Ganabati wanted was to become the intermediary for the Bhais in calling their willful daughter back home to live a more traditional life.
"And how was the football game?" Balaprada inquired. She brought the thermos to Ganabati and filled his empty cup once more. "Did you enjoy yourselves?"
Ganabati noted the way Balaprada asked. The impromptu Newcastle versus Mumbai game was her doing, after all.
It was an everyday enough question, one Nathan certainly wouldn't think twice about if he heard it on one of his recorders.
"Newcastle won out, but it was an enjoyable game nonetheless," Ganabati replied. He reached into his suit's inner pocket and produced a thin data drive. He downed his tea in one gulp, and handed both the cup and drive to Balaprada at once.
One couldn't be too careful. Nathan might've had video cameras set up somewhere too along with all those renovations he did for Lucius' terrarium, after all.
"That's wonderful. It was enjoyable getting to know some of the locals in Newcastle, Nathan's friends, Martin and Alex regaled me about the city's history well enough. Not to mention seeing the support from the poorest residences from Newcastle; it's something I certainly see lacking from their counterparts down in London," Balaprada went on.
"Looks like we're out of tea," Balaprada slipped the data drive into her silk bag along with the thermos and Ganabati and Singh's cups.
Small talk continued among the trio for nearly an hour until...
Without warning, the entrance to Nathan's office slid open. Nathan came practically skipping in as he shunted his phone in his pocket.
"Callooh Callay Ganabati, you never guess what Kaci and Sancho had… Whoops." He stopped when he noticed whom was in the room.
Singh raised a cough, while Balprada raised an eyebrow at the interruption. Tapping her fingers on the table as she waited for Nathan to do the thing they expect from him every time they meet.
"Ah yes right… Namaste Mahjarah Singh, Namaste Maharani Balaprada " Nathan spat out awkwardly, with a half-bow at Singh, and a deeper bow at Balaprada with a grin, something they took notice of.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting. You've brought a gift I see," Nathan eyed the tiny packet Balaprada left out of her bag.
"I have. I hope you put it to good use. Though first things first." Balaprada held her hand out toward Nathan with expectant eyes.
Which he thankfully read and brought his lips to meet the finest ring on her fingers. Ganabati always wondered why Balaprada liked to engage in such western practises. Though compared to Singh, she had taken to certain aspects of living in the west more than even he had over the years.
"Very good Nathan, glad to see your manners are intact." Balaprada smiled softly as she lightly patted Nathan's cheeks with her hands.
"Of course Maharani, I learnt from your wise and benevolent example." Nathan grinned wildly.
Balaprada then handed the small, embroidered packet to Nathan, which he accepted ingloriously with one hand.
"It has been good speaking with you Ganabati," Singh said. "I wish we could stay longer, however we have tickets to the Royal Opera and must be going. I hope we can catch up more in person next time, Nathan."
"Yes of course, Toodle-oo Dalip," Nathan curtly said and waved Singh off.
Singh raised a frown at that. But turned and started to make his way out of the office.
Ganabati went to the door and pressed the button for it to open, allowing the Maharajah and his wife to exit without pause.
"Enjoy the opera," Ganabati bowed.
Singh and Balaprada hadn't even exited the room before Nathan dumped the contents of the packet—another small data drive—into the palm of his hand.
"Just what we needed," Nathan's grin widened as he eyed the drive through his sunglasses.
"You could've at least waited until the Singh's were gone before you opened it," Ganabati sighed once the door closed. "Even cheekiness has its limits."
"Oh don't worry, they understand the sort of person I am. Especially Bala." Nathan said.
"Priestess Kayci has agreed to move forward on her end. Everything's all set concerning the National Museum as well. They've agreed to relinquish a certain artefact I've been eyeing, an artefact I'm certain Natsumi will appreciate having returned to its rightful owners. You gave Balaprada the information you received at the football game as well, I assume?"
Nathan opened the outer door to Lucius' enclosure and went inside. He swept one ungloved hand over the snake's scaly body and rifled through the jungle underbrush with his other.
"I made a copy for you as well of course," Ganabati said. He pulled another data drive out of his pocket and placed it on Nathan's desk.
Nathan pulled a briefcase from the underbrush and exited Lucius' enclosure. He grabbed the data drive Ganabati placed on his desk.
"I appreciate you doing this Ganabati, and for Bala in arranging it all." Nathan said. He rubbed the data drive on his trousers before slipping it into his pocket. "You didn't have to tell me why the sudden urge to go watch the Newcastle versus Dubai game, yet, you did anyway."
"I dislike keeping things like this secret from you. You're a capable man. We want the same things, both for India and the North," Ganabati said. "I will always be indebted to the Maharajah and Balaprada, however, I believe you can accomplish even more."
Nathan nodded. "I appreciate your confidence in me, Ganabati. I have not forgotten the debt I owe to you and to them for showing me kindness when no one else did. It's why I want to make sure you get what you deserve. "
Ganabati felt Nathan's hand briefly pat his back.
"We'll meet again once things move to the next stage. Our flights don't leave until tomorrow morning. For now… what say you to a early little supper Ganabati? I have much to regale you on what Sancho's status is in China..."