The Joint State Political Directorate!
The full-scale emergence of the OGPU began to trigger a wave of intense backlash.
It was not necessarily a grievance against the Director herself.
"The Director seems like a decent enough appointment."
"Feliksa is trustworthy. She served throughout the Revolutionary War. She's got no messy political entanglements, right?"
The point of contention for the people was the very existence of such an organization.
"Is it right for secret police to be prowling around a Federation that's supposed to be free?"
"The careerists have traded the citizens' liberty for their own security! Drive out every last reactionary bastard!"
Unlike the self-proclaimed 'intellectual' professors of the 21st-century Peninsula who harbor a strange fetish for censorship, the intelligentsia of the Federation loathed the concept of a secret police organ. (We shall ignore the fact that the Peninsula's intellectuals only bother to post their opposition online when they feel their own favored political party is the one being muzzled.)
From the Liberty League to the Liberal Party—
The far-left and the right shook hands, launching a series of street marches as professors, students, and Liberal Party members flooded the thoroughfares.
"A secret police? Preposterous! Denounce the Centralist-Social Revolutionary Workers' League coalition government!"
"Instead of liberalizing in the spirit of Vladimir, the Centralists are busy shooting inward! Down with them!"
They marched into the streets and squares carrying red banners or the flags of their respective militias, squaring off against the truncheon-wielding Militsiya.
The People's Police, strictly forbidden from using firearms by the high command and equipped only with light gear like clubs and sticks, were forced to retreat, bloodied, under the ferocious assault of the zealous youth and veterans of the Maylander militia.
In this manner, they claimed victory in the squares; they claimed victory in the streets.
"Hurrah! We've won!"
"Keep going! To the Palace of the Supreme Soviet!"
However, the reaction of the common citizens toward these intellectuals and students was cold and unforgiving.
"Look at those crazed lunatics!"
"Where is the army? What are they doing? Why aren't they suppressing those madmen? In times like these, they should be crushed just as they were during the Empire!"
Despite eight years of life under the Federation, the majority of the citizenry still lived with a mindset mired in the Imperial era.
Just as a man's way of thinking does not transform overnight, their perspective had not strayed far from the days when the world was divided strictly into 'subjects' and 'enemies of the state.'
In the eyes of such citizens, the protesters were not heroes, but 'un-people' and reactionaries.
"3rd Platoon, move forward!"
"The protesters are throwing Molotov cocktails. I repeat: protesters are throwing Molotovs."
"All platoons, prepare!"
When the combat Militsiya stationed in each city were finally deployed—armed with shields, batons, tear gas, and water cannons—the protest lines began to crumble instantly.
Cough! "My eyes! My eyes sting so much I can't see!"
"Agh! Who is that! Don't push!"
"I—I am a Professor of Sociology at Birmingham University! Please, just spare my life!"
The Militsiya achieved a grand success, dispersing the massive protests while maintaining a record of zero fatalities.
Since the number of injured officers actually outweighed the number of injured protesters, even the media—save for the most radical party rags—couldn't find much of a bone to pick with the incident.
Thus, the first conflict surrounding the OGPU drew to a close.
********************************
Feliksa arrived at the provisional OGPU headquarters early in the morning.
Beyond the window, the faint traces of dawn still lingered.
The office was impeccably organized.
Stacks of documents were categorized by item and marked with colored tabs.
She placed her hand upon them and took a deep, steadying breath.
"From today, we will build this organization."
A young agent, waiting for direction rather than offering a suggestion, asked, "Director, what is our priority?"
Feliksa picked up a brush pen and tore a sheet of paper from her notebook.
She drew a table with four cells.
"Principle, Personnel, Procedure, Decoy."
She tapped the table with her fingertip.
"First, Principle. No torture. Absolute adherence to warrant procedures. Maintain political neutrality. Only by doing these things can we survive even if the regime changes."
"Second, Personnel. The core is trust and technical skill. Communications, cryptology, field agents, and covert investigation specialists. We must secure a contact network that can penetrate every level of society."
"Third, Procedure. Every stage of evidence collection must be recorded via audio, video, or written word. This must be available for the audit teams to peer into at any time. Securing public trust is paramount."
"Fourth, Decoy. Spies are like pigeons; they are frantic to peck at anything you toss them. We will exploit that. And this time, the Central Research Institute seems like the perfect stage to draw the enemy's attention."
The agents exchanged glances.
"A decoy... Are you saying we are to put the Institute at risk?"
"No. The goal isn't to place the Institute in jeopardy. It is to create an environment that appears vulnerable, inducing the enemy to reach out—and then making sure we seize the hand they extend."
From a small box in the corner of the office, Feliksa pulled out a few handcrafted model components.
They looked crude to a trained eye, but to someone who didn't possess the blueprints, they appeared valuable enough.
She held them up, smiling like a small child presented with a dessert.
"Even with things like this, guests will come."
********************************
"A decoy operation. A grand plan right out of the gate."
Wrangel muttered as he leafed through the proposal with me.
The briefing room, as always, was filled with the scent of paper and stale air.
The plan Feliksa had brought sat before us.
The cover was plain and sturdy, and the figures contained within were suffocatingly precise.
I rubbed the document with my thumb. The grain of the paper felt coarse.
"The data is accurate, the evidence is there, and the logic is sound. Everything looks fine... except for the risk of using the Central Research Institute as bait."
To be honest, it was a strangely tempting plan.
If you ignored the bait part, that is.
What was the Central Research Institute?
It was the largest research facility in the Federation, established directly under the People's Commissariat of Science and Technology.
And she wanted to use that as bait?
What if someone actually succeeded in infiltrating and made off with our research data?
Terrans didn't even know what smokeless powder was yet, but if even a single document regarding firearms leaked, the balance of power would be upended.
The only reason we were holding our own was our strategy of arming the entire citizenry with rifles—rifles that were subpar compared even to 19th-century standards—and winning through sheer volume.
The 'Twenty-Five Million Total Shattering of Jade'... it's enough to make one's heart swell with grim pride.
In any case, this was an incredibly dangerous plan.
Was she really going to burn down the entire house just to catch a few fleas?
I moved my hand to set the documents down.
"The risk of using the institute as bait is too high. It would be better to veto this—"
At that moment, Wrangel caught my hand before I could release the papers.
"I, for one, like this plan."
He grinned.
Why is he smiling?
This is definitely a bad idea.
I looked at him with skeptical eyes.
"...Brother, what has gotten into you suddenly?"
He laughed and replied, "Haven't we been planning something for a while now? The Design Bureau. The OKB."
Ah, that's right.
The Design Bureau.
The Soviet state enterprise system where bureaus actually competed against one another despite being state-owned.
Even after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the transition to a capitalist corporate structure, those bureaus remained the prominent players within Russia.
One might call them geese that lay golden eggs.
Of course, given Russia's abysmal economy, mining giants like Gazprom are the ones laying the really big golden eggs.
Regardless, we had intended to eventually transition the current Central Research Institute structure into a system of Design Bureaus.
But what does that have to do with this?
As I looked at him with an uncomprehending expression, he said with a smirk, "We announce the transition to the Design Bureau system, spread a rumor that the task of firearm design has been consolidated into one specific bureau, and then we round up every spy who bites."
Hmm...
That actually sounds better than I expected.
The Supreme Soviet aside, the key figures within the Central People's Committee are all veterans of the revolution, so we don't need to worry about leaks from the top.
As for the plan, we can just move the timeline up by a few months.
"Hearing you put it like that makes me suddenly very interested. Fine. Let's do it."
I slammed my stamp down on the document.
Securing both technological advancement and counter-intelligence at once—how 'Lucky Vicky' of me.
While I was inwardly celebrating our efficiency—
"By the way, get some sleep. Look at the state of you. If you go out to give a speech looking like that, people are going to drop dead from shock."
Wrangel said, staring directly into my eyes.
Is it really that bad?
I looked into a hand mirror.
Reflected there was a man with skin around his eyes so dark he looked like a panda.
Good heavens.
However, I didn't show my surprise. I just scratched the back of my head.
"I'll take care of my own business. I'm fine, so you go on and rest."
Wrangel let out a long sigh.
"Sigh... this is exactly why you don't have a girlfriend."
The ultimate low blow.
Dammit... I swear I'm going to get married someday.
That lucky bastard who married a silver-haired, red-eyed, well-endowed Kuranta....
********************************
"So, you've decided to announce it?"
"Yes, Elder. Truly, these days are killing me. Is there no way to rein in the Liberty League? I'd like to pass this with a unanimous vote."
"That's why you should have retired earlier like me," the old man laughed.
It's not like I can just quit whenever I want!
"Let me be clear, I cannot control the Liberty League."
"Why not?"
"Is there anything more pathetic than an old man who's retired from politics trying to stick his nose back in? I'm going to spend the rest of my days looking after my grandchildren."
Tch. That's a shame.
Well, the delegates in the Liberty League are the honest types who ignore the party line and vote their conscience, so I suppose I have to live with it.
But wait, grandchildren?
"Allya has children?"
At my words, Old Man Pyotr's face suddenly soured.
"You... haven't heard the news?"
"No. I've been buried alive in paperwork."
He smacked his forehead.
What on earth happened for him to react like that?
Does she really have children?
Am I the villain here for not knowing?
As those thoughts raced through my head—
"The hospital results came back a month ago. She's pregnant."
Ah, I really am the villain.
I bowed my head deeply.
"Please, strike me once with all your might. This lowly beast, who doesn't even know what's happening to those around him, kneels before you."
"You're just bowing your head, not kneeling."
"It's a figure of speech, Elder."
The old man let out a dry chuckle.
He toyed with his mustache for a moment before speaking.
"I'll let it slide this once."
"Thank you, Elder."
I quickly straightened up.
I felt like I was going to develop 'turtle neck' syndrome if I kept that posture.
Why does my neck actually hurt so much?
"Get some sleep. Stop drinking coffee. Your face has become so gaunt...."
What? This again?
As I scratched my sideburns, thinking that, the old man continued.
"I saw many young men like you in my youth. Men who pushed their bodies to the absolute limit. Do you know what happened to them?"
Hmm...
They succeeded?
"They either succeeded or went mad. Success is fine, but your dream is too far away. It will take hundreds of years. And yet, you're grinding your soul into dust like this?"
Well...
It's true that I've practically been pulverizing my body for the past eight years.
The bureaucratic class raised through public education is only now starting to clear out the illiterate administrators. Before this, the government would have likely collapsed if I hadn't been there.
Ugh... the memories of grad school.
I can't say I particularly miss them....
Is it really time for a rest?
"Elder, how much longer do you think I can hold out?"
I asked quietly.
Could I hold out for another eight years?
I feel like it would be truly finished by then.
"Five years, at most."
I see.
Five years is more than enough.
"Five years... that's perfectly fine."
Then, Old Man Pyotr struck me across the back with a full-power swing.
Gah!
My herniated disc!!!
"You damn fool! If someone tells you to rest, then rest!"
Ugh... he's right.
I'm certainly not complying just because I got a back-smashing.
Absolutely not!
"Then... I'll try to rest for about a week. The workload is heavy, and the fatigue has been unbearable lately."
"Good idea."
He سپس began to stroke my back gently.
The sting still lingered, but the old man's touch didn't feel bad.
And as soon as I hit the bed, I ended up sleeping for three straight days.
******************************
"Has the Chairman not woken up yet?"
"No, he is still asleep."
"Then I shall have to make the announcement."
Thus, in my absence, Wrangel ended up holding the press conference regarding the introduction of the Design Bureau system.
And with me—who had stood in the official spotlight for eight consecutive years—absent for the first time, the Federation began to shake.
"Where did Comrade Chairman go? Why is Comrade Vice-Chairman making the announcement?"
"Is he perhaps gravely ill?"
"Could disloyal elements have plotted a coup?"
The citizens grew anxious, repeating every 'what if' they could imagine.
And naturally, these rumors reached the ears of the spies.
"Excellent. We strike the designated Design Bureau."
"Could this be a trap?"
"What kind of idiot country would play such a card right in the middle of a coup? Besides, I never thought the head of the Reds would be ousted by a power struggle so easily."
And so, a very big fish bit the hook.