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March 4th, 1940 (Aiello timeline)
London, Indian Occupation Zone, England
Morning
Somewhere in Hilbert space, a large structure, teetering in superposition, snaps this way instead of that way... and certain events described long ago are about to have a different outcome.
Abramo is of an extremely monotheistic faith, and has just fought a world-spanning war against an entity with immense powers of mind-control and illusion; and he has not yet heard the word 'god' spoken in Taldane. When he is swept away from the world of his ordinary senses, his first thought is not of the divine, or of gods, but of powerful nonhuman entities of unknown powers and goals. He is, to say the least, wary.
Abadar is looking for trade partners, not subjects or servitors or subhumans.
Ah. Trade is, indeed, an interest of Abramo's. And yet - in dealing with alien entities of unknown powers, one ought to be careful that one does not give more than is visibly part of the deal. He thinks for a moment of the natives of the Far Eastern island chains, where the Aiello trade-ships would sell liquor and metal needles and cotton cloth, and of the many things that were included in those bargains - not for free, but for payments not measured in ducats. And with the reminder of the Christian missionaries that always followed the traders, he thinks, too, of very ancient words: "Thou shalt have no other god before me". The joke among the Aiello is that profit is not a god, and so it is all right to put it first... but it's only a joke. One that's less amusing now, in this world of angels and visions, and an entity whose power is indeed godlike.
Abramo will be clear: He will not trade his soul, nor his worship. Those are already pledged to another Covenant, and the terms of the lien are binding even in death.
That is all right; Abadar appreciates the clarification. Abadar requires no worship, and does not trade in souls. He offers a simple contract: Fee for service, revocable by either party at will.
The fee is indeed impressive; powers that seem magical even to a man of the twentieth century, who has killed men at five hundred paces and lit a room with the flick of a finger. Manipulation of forces unknown to human science; with these 'spells' at his fingertips, perhaps he could finally meet the Jackal - or its home civilisation - on its own ground.
And again he is reminded of his last speech to the Jackal, the one that ended with her teeth in his throat: Tell me, did you ever consider using anything but force and fear, to accomplish your goals? Did it occur to you that, with your superior knowledge, you could pay in education for the metal and labour to build your spaceships?
It appears that Abadar has considered that, and has come down on the side of trade, of comparative advantage and value for value given. Abramo appreciates that. But the question remains, what is the service Abadar wants? It is not well to sign contracts with open-ended consideration.
Abadar wants trade to flourish and industry to spring up. He wants contracts respected and merchants unharassed. He wants grain to flow from the fruitful plain to the hungry city, and cloth from the workshop to the field. He wants roads filled with goods, and bellies with food; wants everyone to do the work they can do, and respect that of others. He wants every man to serve his country by seeing to his own best interest, as though guided by an invisible hand.
How strange, to be the one signing on the dotted line marked 'employee'. But such is life; in this world, the Aiello name carries no connotation of vast unmeasurable wealth, will not bring Abramo unlimited credit in any bank he deigns to grace with his presence. Here, Abramo's only capital is his mind and his hands. And for such folk the best trade is done with the wealthiest of capitalists, who can provide the best tools. It is only a few minutes since Abramo looked askance at Horgus Gwerm's attitude to his workmen; he is pleased to find that he still agrees with his ideology, now that he himself sells his labour for capital. He straightens his back and lifts his chin. He is a workman now; then let him be worthy of his hire.
Then we can have some level-up mechanics which we'll elide the details of, and some work figuring out how to prepare new spells and rest.
And in the morning, the news that the tribes are gathering - a mighty host, more than three dozen men mongrels!
It'll have to suffice; after all the enemy also seems to lack rifle-armed conscripts by the millions, tanks by the tens of thousands, guns and aircraft and battleships... Although they do have locusts which only strike one side's logistics, just like the Jackal. So at least some of Abramo's experience is still relevant.
Right. Decision time. Abramo isn't quite sure how he ended up in charge of this, actually - Camellia seems perfectly competent with that rapier, Seelah is wearing most of a light tank's worth of armour (well... a French light tank, at least), and Lann should presumably be taking orders from Sull. But all right; he does have some experience in war. So, what to advise?
...what to order. If he's in charge, he'd better think of himself as such; anything else is disaster.
There isn't any very obvious way to advance the cause of trade, here, unless perhaps you count opening communications between the caves and the surface. At least Dyra might get her wish of trading in a money economy. But there's no tactical insight to be had from that perspective.
Well then, fall back on the oldest lesson: If you have a moment of respite, seize the initiative. Sull's deliberate mobilisation is all very well, but speed is life. A small reconnaissance in force, a probing attack - bypass the strongpoints, get into the enemy's rear.
"Indeed. Let's go."
You are in a chamber 40 feet by 15; carvings of the demon lord Baphomet, and banners with his heraldry, fill the walls.
A secret cult in the catacombs below a city; Abramo suppresses a smile at the irony. At least the local version of the Long War seems to be out in the open, shots fired and weapons free. He hefts the crossbow, then remembers the tools he's renting from Abadar. He'll have to be mindful that he has options he's not used to, here; not easy, in the heat of combat.
This is concerning; enemies with heavy crossbows are much more dangerous than centipedes. If there's a lot of this kind of resistance then the reconnaissance in force needs more force. House-to-house fighting against humans eats men like... well, like nothing else. Abramo has fought house to house in the back streets of Venice, and knows what it's like; and he commanded the armies that took Cairo, Constantinople, and London. He has seen brigades and divisions broken on single strongpoints.
And Lann's wound looks disabling - in fact Abramo's not at all sure how the man is standing up, after taking a crossbow bolt the size of his thumb to the torso.
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