11-30-2019, 05:08 AM
Imperial Civil Service
Hall of Examination and Review
Tlālacuetztla
“Omapācatl? They are ready to speak with you now, madam,” the assistant with the review committee said, popping his head through the doorway.
“Thank you,” the woman he was speaking to responded, standing up with well-honed grace. Omapācatl, one of three assistants to the Secretary of Trade, walked to the doorway with clear confidence. Her A’pilne dress flowed around her, draping her thin frame and swirling around her gently as she walked into the conference room. The Review Committee for Staffing to Serve The Secretary of Trade, Imperial Civil Service, read the small nameplate attached next to the door.
As she entered the conference room, Omapācatl smiled warmly at the three people seated at the table. All of them were career Civil Service employees, assigned by the new Secretary of Trade to assess the current staff members of that office and see who they would want to keep - and who they would want to replace.
Many staffers would be slightly nervous as they were basically auditioning to keep their jobs. Omapācatl, however, had been an assistant to the previous Secretary of Trade, under Emperor Topilpopoca, for ten years. She was well-respected and had even briefly been a candidate to be Secretary herself, before the new Empress had selected someone else. Still, Omapācatl was confident that her experience and tenure would allow her to at least continue in her existing role.
“Thank you for coming,” one of the three interviewers said, gesturing Omapācatl to her seat. Each of the three interviewers had a folder in front of them; a similar folder sat on the table in front of Omapācatl. The lead interviewer gestured to her to pick it up. “We have quite a few questions, so let’s get started. Please turn to the first page in the interview packet.”
Omapācatl picked up the folder and began turning pages as instructed; the paper had a strange glossy feel to it. As the interview progressed, Omapācatl noticed that she was beginning to feel strange. “Could I have some water, please?” she asked.
As one of the three at the table reached over to pour some water into a glass from a nearby pitcher, the feeling of strangeness Omapācatl was feeling intensified. Her vision began to blur, wavering. Omapācatl tried to say something, but found that she was quite unable to speak. As a heavy feeling settled across her limbs, blackness overcame her vision. She slowly slid from the chair onto the floor.
The lead interviewer calmly walked over to Omapācatl and nudged her to make sure she was truly passed out. When there was no response, she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, pressing a speed dial button. “It’s done,” she said when the other end of the call answered.
The Cauhloc
Several hours later, Omapācatl woke up in a daze. Her head still swimming, she tried to sit up. She found herself on a bed, still wearing the outfit she had worn to the interview. Her shoes and jewelry, however, were gone, as was the briefcase she had carried with her.
She looked around the room. It had the appearance of a room at a three-star hotel, but was entirely too quiet. There were also no windows, and the door had no visible handle or knob. While no cameras were visible, Omapācatl knew what a Xiomeran VIP detention facility looked like well enough to know they had to be present. Shit, she thought to herself.
Before she could think anything else, the door opened, and three people walked in. Two of them were Shorn Ones, the deadly elite soldiers who answered only to the Empress herself. That alone would have been unsettling to Omapācatl. The third one, however, was a sign that she was, indeed, in deep trouble. Her heart sank, but she wasn’t about to let a sign of it show on her face. “What happened to me? Where am I? I was in the middle of an interview and then I passed out....”
“Of course you passed out. That was the idea,” Zalpalatli said with a smile. The Secretary for Security reached into his pocket, pulling out a remote. Aiming it at a “mirror” on the wall, he pressed a button. A high-quality recording of the scene at the interview played; Zalpalatli paused it when Omapācatl picked up the folder. “The fibers of the paper were infused with xonequima,” the Secretary said, naming a rare Xiomeran root known as a potent soporific. “Transferred by touch. You could have drank an entire coffee shop’s worth of lattes and still been out like a light.”
“Why have I been detained?” Omapācatl demanded, trying to regain her dignity and control of the situation.
“Oh come now, that can’t really be a question,” Zalpalatli replied, his voice becoming even more amused. “You have undoubtedly heard about this whole Aurora thing our Kerlian friends decided to spring on the entire IDU....including Xiomera. A fact that we certainly weren’t aware of until certain rumors began to spread.”
“Of course I’ve heard of the rumors, but what does that have to do with me...wait now, you can’t possibly believe I am one of these...Auroras,” Omapācatl said, doing her best to appear indignant. “I have been a loyal servant of the Empire in the Civil Service for years, and a loyal citizen my whole life!”
“Indeed. That all appears to be true....at least, as far as the upfront appearance of it goes. However, like layers of paint, when you chip one off, different colors start to appear. It all began when the new Secretary of Trade was chosen, and we had to review all of the existing staffers of that office at the request of the new Secretary.” Zalpalatli tapped the wall next to him, pantomiming the movement of a chisel. “First chip. The background checks under the Empress are a bit more....thorough, now, than they were under Topilpopoca. Given the threats from countries like Zamastan, and the ongoing rumors about this Aurora thing....certain discrepancies began to appear in your record. For example, your records from when you joined the Patriotic Youth Corps, at age 17, indicated that you attended the Telpochcalli Tlālacuetztla #46 at the time. But when we checked the school’s records, they had surprisingly little information.” Zalpalatli raised his finger to stop Omapācatl before she could protest. “In fact, no record could be found of your existence at all, before you entered the Telpochcalli Tlālacuetztla #46. The individuals listed as your parents on the enrollment records cannot be found. In fact, they do not appear to have ever existed in any Xiomeran records anywhere. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”
Omapācatl sighed. “It must be a mistake. The records must be in error or lost,” she tried.
Zalpalatli laughed. “Your superiors would be appalled to hear you blame the Civil Service for such an egregious error. Throwing them under the bus, are we?”
Before Omapācatl could speak further, Zalpalatli held up a second finger. “Second chip in the paint. Given the rumors going around, and the very strange matter of you seeming to have disappearing parents and nonexistent history, we did further checking. You may recall that you had a minor surgery in...” the Secretary checked his notes, “....2014, to deal with a pesky appendix. What you certainly would not know is that at that time, a sample of your DNA was retained. One of my predecessor Tepilcayotl’s more paranoid plans, he wanted to compile a database of the genetic code of all Xiomeran citizens to make it easier to link people to crimes. I must say, though he failed in letting this whole Aurora thing infiltrate Xiomera, he was prescient in terms of how useful having a genetic fingerprint of Xiomeran citizens would be in investigations. You’re the first test subject, and I must say it worked splendidly. Testing of your DNA could not find any living relatives here in Xiomera. That simply cannot happen. You are a literal ghost in Xiomeran records before you entered school, all the way back to your alleged birth 36 years ago.”
“Third chip in the paint,” Zalpalatli said, forestalling Omapācatl’s protests once more. “We checked your birth records. You were supposedly born at Olcochitl Hospital on September 14th, 1983 at 4:59 pm. But there were no live female births recorded at Olcochitl Hospital that day....the only female child born that day was stillborn.”
Omapācatl stopped trying to respond. There seemed to be little point.
“Are we past the point of futile denials? That’s good,” Zalpalatli said with another smile. “You see, despite the guards and the nice-but-still-a-cell prison cell and all, we’re not trying to punish you nor do we see you as a threat. In fact, I have an offer personally from the Empress herself. If you admit you are an Aurora, we will allow you to return to Kerlile if you so wish. On the other hand, if you wish to remain here with your husband....” Zalpalatli checked his notes, “....Caatōtlmi, and your three children, you would be free to do so....if you agree to serve the Xiomeran Empire and end your mission here. Xiomera and Kerlile are not enemies, and we have no intention of treating you as one.”
Omapācatl gave a smile of her own. “If this is not punishment, and I am not a threat, why am I in a prison cell?”
Zalpalatli chuckled at that. “Fair question. And it deserves a fair answer. You’re here to ensure Xiomeran security, of course. We have a responsibility to our people to do that. But in truth, we could easily let you out, and even give you a way to leave Xiomera, if you really wanted that. And the Empress might even be inclined to do so. It’s a long way from Xiomera to Kerlile, though. And it involves passing through a lot of countries whose own security forces will see you as a threat, and respond accordingly. So what good does that accomplish? We’d be sending you to your death, quite frankly, and we’d rather not. You’ve served Xiomera well as a fake citizen - we’d like to see you do it as the real deal.”
Omapācatl decided to try again. “I am a Xiomeran citizen, no matter what the records say.”
Zalpalatli didn’t even look angry or frustrated. He looked disappointed, an expression that Omapācatl had not expected to see. “I thought we were past this. But, apparently, we are not. If you insist on sticking to this clearly spurious claim that you are not an Aurora, we will have to keep you here for now. We can’t very well send a Xiomeran citizen to Kerlile, or stick them outside the country, now can we?”
Zalpalatli turned to walk out of the cell. He paused, however, to look back over his shoulder.
“We shall have to prove ourselves as well, apparently. You will not be mistreated in any way, and can remain here while we decide what to do. However, I will simply say this. It’s not possible to make progress without trust. Trust, however, requires honesty. This is true between people - and between countries. Think about that, while you decide what to do.”
The Security Secretary gave a short nod of his head, before walking out to leave Omapācatl alone with her thoughts.
Hall of Examination and Review
Tlālacuetztla
“Omapācatl? They are ready to speak with you now, madam,” the assistant with the review committee said, popping his head through the doorway.
“Thank you,” the woman he was speaking to responded, standing up with well-honed grace. Omapācatl, one of three assistants to the Secretary of Trade, walked to the doorway with clear confidence. Her A’pilne dress flowed around her, draping her thin frame and swirling around her gently as she walked into the conference room. The Review Committee for Staffing to Serve The Secretary of Trade, Imperial Civil Service, read the small nameplate attached next to the door.
As she entered the conference room, Omapācatl smiled warmly at the three people seated at the table. All of them were career Civil Service employees, assigned by the new Secretary of Trade to assess the current staff members of that office and see who they would want to keep - and who they would want to replace.
Many staffers would be slightly nervous as they were basically auditioning to keep their jobs. Omapācatl, however, had been an assistant to the previous Secretary of Trade, under Emperor Topilpopoca, for ten years. She was well-respected and had even briefly been a candidate to be Secretary herself, before the new Empress had selected someone else. Still, Omapācatl was confident that her experience and tenure would allow her to at least continue in her existing role.
“Thank you for coming,” one of the three interviewers said, gesturing Omapācatl to her seat. Each of the three interviewers had a folder in front of them; a similar folder sat on the table in front of Omapācatl. The lead interviewer gestured to her to pick it up. “We have quite a few questions, so let’s get started. Please turn to the first page in the interview packet.”
Omapācatl picked up the folder and began turning pages as instructed; the paper had a strange glossy feel to it. As the interview progressed, Omapācatl noticed that she was beginning to feel strange. “Could I have some water, please?” she asked.
As one of the three at the table reached over to pour some water into a glass from a nearby pitcher, the feeling of strangeness Omapācatl was feeling intensified. Her vision began to blur, wavering. Omapācatl tried to say something, but found that she was quite unable to speak. As a heavy feeling settled across her limbs, blackness overcame her vision. She slowly slid from the chair onto the floor.
The lead interviewer calmly walked over to Omapācatl and nudged her to make sure she was truly passed out. When there was no response, she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, pressing a speed dial button. “It’s done,” she said when the other end of the call answered.
The Cauhloc
Several hours later, Omapācatl woke up in a daze. Her head still swimming, she tried to sit up. She found herself on a bed, still wearing the outfit she had worn to the interview. Her shoes and jewelry, however, were gone, as was the briefcase she had carried with her.
She looked around the room. It had the appearance of a room at a three-star hotel, but was entirely too quiet. There were also no windows, and the door had no visible handle or knob. While no cameras were visible, Omapācatl knew what a Xiomeran VIP detention facility looked like well enough to know they had to be present. Shit, she thought to herself.
Before she could think anything else, the door opened, and three people walked in. Two of them were Shorn Ones, the deadly elite soldiers who answered only to the Empress herself. That alone would have been unsettling to Omapācatl. The third one, however, was a sign that she was, indeed, in deep trouble. Her heart sank, but she wasn’t about to let a sign of it show on her face. “What happened to me? Where am I? I was in the middle of an interview and then I passed out....”
“Of course you passed out. That was the idea,” Zalpalatli said with a smile. The Secretary for Security reached into his pocket, pulling out a remote. Aiming it at a “mirror” on the wall, he pressed a button. A high-quality recording of the scene at the interview played; Zalpalatli paused it when Omapācatl picked up the folder. “The fibers of the paper were infused with xonequima,” the Secretary said, naming a rare Xiomeran root known as a potent soporific. “Transferred by touch. You could have drank an entire coffee shop’s worth of lattes and still been out like a light.”
“Why have I been detained?” Omapācatl demanded, trying to regain her dignity and control of the situation.
“Oh come now, that can’t really be a question,” Zalpalatli replied, his voice becoming even more amused. “You have undoubtedly heard about this whole Aurora thing our Kerlian friends decided to spring on the entire IDU....including Xiomera. A fact that we certainly weren’t aware of until certain rumors began to spread.”
“Of course I’ve heard of the rumors, but what does that have to do with me...wait now, you can’t possibly believe I am one of these...Auroras,” Omapācatl said, doing her best to appear indignant. “I have been a loyal servant of the Empire in the Civil Service for years, and a loyal citizen my whole life!”
“Indeed. That all appears to be true....at least, as far as the upfront appearance of it goes. However, like layers of paint, when you chip one off, different colors start to appear. It all began when the new Secretary of Trade was chosen, and we had to review all of the existing staffers of that office at the request of the new Secretary.” Zalpalatli tapped the wall next to him, pantomiming the movement of a chisel. “First chip. The background checks under the Empress are a bit more....thorough, now, than they were under Topilpopoca. Given the threats from countries like Zamastan, and the ongoing rumors about this Aurora thing....certain discrepancies began to appear in your record. For example, your records from when you joined the Patriotic Youth Corps, at age 17, indicated that you attended the Telpochcalli Tlālacuetztla #46 at the time. But when we checked the school’s records, they had surprisingly little information.” Zalpalatli raised his finger to stop Omapācatl before she could protest. “In fact, no record could be found of your existence at all, before you entered the Telpochcalli Tlālacuetztla #46. The individuals listed as your parents on the enrollment records cannot be found. In fact, they do not appear to have ever existed in any Xiomeran records anywhere. That’s a bit odd, don’t you think?”
Omapācatl sighed. “It must be a mistake. The records must be in error or lost,” she tried.
Zalpalatli laughed. “Your superiors would be appalled to hear you blame the Civil Service for such an egregious error. Throwing them under the bus, are we?”
Before Omapācatl could speak further, Zalpalatli held up a second finger. “Second chip in the paint. Given the rumors going around, and the very strange matter of you seeming to have disappearing parents and nonexistent history, we did further checking. You may recall that you had a minor surgery in...” the Secretary checked his notes, “....2014, to deal with a pesky appendix. What you certainly would not know is that at that time, a sample of your DNA was retained. One of my predecessor Tepilcayotl’s more paranoid plans, he wanted to compile a database of the genetic code of all Xiomeran citizens to make it easier to link people to crimes. I must say, though he failed in letting this whole Aurora thing infiltrate Xiomera, he was prescient in terms of how useful having a genetic fingerprint of Xiomeran citizens would be in investigations. You’re the first test subject, and I must say it worked splendidly. Testing of your DNA could not find any living relatives here in Xiomera. That simply cannot happen. You are a literal ghost in Xiomeran records before you entered school, all the way back to your alleged birth 36 years ago.”
“Third chip in the paint,” Zalpalatli said, forestalling Omapācatl’s protests once more. “We checked your birth records. You were supposedly born at Olcochitl Hospital on September 14th, 1983 at 4:59 pm. But there were no live female births recorded at Olcochitl Hospital that day....the only female child born that day was stillborn.”
Omapācatl stopped trying to respond. There seemed to be little point.
“Are we past the point of futile denials? That’s good,” Zalpalatli said with another smile. “You see, despite the guards and the nice-but-still-a-cell prison cell and all, we’re not trying to punish you nor do we see you as a threat. In fact, I have an offer personally from the Empress herself. If you admit you are an Aurora, we will allow you to return to Kerlile if you so wish. On the other hand, if you wish to remain here with your husband....” Zalpalatli checked his notes, “....Caatōtlmi, and your three children, you would be free to do so....if you agree to serve the Xiomeran Empire and end your mission here. Xiomera and Kerlile are not enemies, and we have no intention of treating you as one.”
Omapācatl gave a smile of her own. “If this is not punishment, and I am not a threat, why am I in a prison cell?”
Zalpalatli chuckled at that. “Fair question. And it deserves a fair answer. You’re here to ensure Xiomeran security, of course. We have a responsibility to our people to do that. But in truth, we could easily let you out, and even give you a way to leave Xiomera, if you really wanted that. And the Empress might even be inclined to do so. It’s a long way from Xiomera to Kerlile, though. And it involves passing through a lot of countries whose own security forces will see you as a threat, and respond accordingly. So what good does that accomplish? We’d be sending you to your death, quite frankly, and we’d rather not. You’ve served Xiomera well as a fake citizen - we’d like to see you do it as the real deal.”
Omapācatl decided to try again. “I am a Xiomeran citizen, no matter what the records say.”
Zalpalatli didn’t even look angry or frustrated. He looked disappointed, an expression that Omapācatl had not expected to see. “I thought we were past this. But, apparently, we are not. If you insist on sticking to this clearly spurious claim that you are not an Aurora, we will have to keep you here for now. We can’t very well send a Xiomeran citizen to Kerlile, or stick them outside the country, now can we?”
Zalpalatli turned to walk out of the cell. He paused, however, to look back over his shoulder.
“We shall have to prove ourselves as well, apparently. You will not be mistreated in any way, and can remain here while we decide what to do. However, I will simply say this. It’s not possible to make progress without trust. Trust, however, requires honesty. This is true between people - and between countries. Think about that, while you decide what to do.”
The Security Secretary gave a short nod of his head, before walking out to leave Omapācatl alone with her thoughts.
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