I was given a more formal briefing on the dangers of Kara Martins, the nation of Combria, and Findor Quotus, himself. I was also briefed on the 250'000-plus credits in compensation, another reason I accepted this assignment. And this morning, I boarded a gyroplane which flew me from Kindol to South Masonia.
I had been aboard a gyroplane once before, back in 1317. I was younger at the time, and therefore more impressionable. The passenger section was like a small hotel, with a nice lobby and cafe near the front, spacious corridors, and private passenger quarters. I remember my parents saying that these were almost as spacious as the old airships, except gyroplanes were much faster.
That of course led me to dwell on something I heard in the past, a rumor about how Peter Quora kept insisting that he take an airship, rather than a gyroplane, to his destinations.
The gyroplane flight I took back in 1317 was for a trip to Paolina, a nice and warm paradise, I thought. And how remarkable it was, at the time, that they had made quite the recovery since the end of a war with Lesterre a few years previously.
That flight was for a vacation. This flight, on the other hand, was for a very different matter: a visitation to the nation of Combria. From what I've learned thus far, all Combrian men between the ages of 18 and 35 have been conscripted into military service. All Combrian women between the ages of 18 and 35 are, by law, placed on a "Bachelorette Registry," an act just short of state-sponsored arranged marriages. And every Combrian in the Darkfire Community, or of a "non-traditional sexuality," or with certain health conditions, mental health conditions, or disabilities, has been placed on an "Adjusting Persons Registry." Anyone on that Registry has limited job opportunities, limited social gathering opportunities, and lack of traveling freedoms. They also have been denied adequate healthcare, forced into options that are outdated or downright harmful. And these people are apparently made to live in neighborhood perimeters closed in by barb-wired fences and walls.
And then there's reports of some sort of secret police force silently detaining and disappearing those who dissent.
***
I arrived in South Masonia in the afternoon, early afternoon in Remikra but late afternoon in Furthing. I filed through Combrian customs, passing as a "foreign visitor on an educational trip" and presenting paperwork carefully crafted by Kindol University. I declared all my possessions as asked, though my talisman and charred badge were concealed in a way that would never be found by any prying security searches. I was also made to sign papers promising not to disclose to anyone abroad anything I saw here in Combria; but likewise with the badge and talisman, I also have a secret mode of communication that I know Combria would never discover.
The mesh trains here are very much the same as in Furthing. But the scenery out here is very different. Instead of a free world like in Furthing, the route to Northmoor was lined with numerous Adjusting Persons Perimeters, all surrounded by barbed wire fences. In the many towns we passed through, most of the street corners seemed to be home to loudspeakers, which I presumed were blasting things like political propaganda and curfew calls, something I confirmed was the case when I disembarked in Northmoor.
And the other thing was the flags. Nearly every street light, street corner, public building, and even every bridge, was lined with Combrian Confederation flags. I'm not clear on whether this presence is state-sponsored or simply implemented by the will of a brainwashed population; but regardless, this all rings of a kind of "obsessive nationalism" that I fear will leave me unable to sleep soundly for many nights to come.
The Northmoor Headquarters was a fancily-adorned office building five floors tall on the corner of Windon Avenue and Karlin Boulevard. And just like all the other buildings, every window of this Headquarters Building was decorated with the Combrian flag. Inside, I asked who appeared to be one of the Custodians about Findor, and the man told me to send an OCEA message to the Curator due to his busy schedule.
"Walk-in visitations are not an option," the Custodian told me.
***
The hotel room I reserved was right across Karlin Boulevard from the Headquarters, so I resolved to check in for the night. I just sent two messages to Findor, and it was only two hours after the second message that I got Findor's response: "Busy at the moment. I will reach back out to you within the next day or two."