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[uk-news-talking-politics]

The no-deal threat: What happens when the problems interact?

By Alex Andreou

Last week, Michael Gove announced the launch of "a rapid rebuttal unit" to counter "scare stories" about a disorderly Brexit. "While no-deal may present some challenges, scare stories and misinformation are designed to obstruct democracy and prevent us leaving," said a Cabinet source, straight out of an Orwell nightmare.

All media will be required to be chipper about a disorderly exit - an outcome which, only a year ago, even most people in the current Cabinet thought was highly undesirable.

Yesterday, we saw the first skirmish of this media war, after details of Operation Yellowhammer - the government’s contingency planning document in case of a disorderly no-deal exit - were leaked to the Sunday Times. Up popped Gove, to say he doesn't comment on leaks, but he would on this one. He suggested that the document was "out of date". Not quite fake news then, just old news.

Gove said that in the last three weeks many of the issues have been sorted out - even though, as far as I can see, all that has happened is a series of announcements, rather than any concrete action. He also insisted that the leaked document only presented "a worst case scenario", even though it is the very scenario which last month he said was his working assumption.

The BBC recently devoted the day to "answering your no-deal questions". For my sins - and because I was in charge of the Best For Britain Twitter feed that day - I watched and listened to pretty much all of it.

A fascinating pattern emerged. Each item, looked at in isolation, was thorough and informative. But the problem was precisely that each item was looked at in isolation. There was no attempt to form an overall view or pull together these loose threads. The result was distorting.

A parade of stakeholders answered questions about how a disorderly exit might affect the haulage industry for one hour, food supplies the next, border checks the hour after that, road traffic next, and so on. The picture was of each industry in isolation - calm and rational - preparing for the known risks and worrying about the unknown ones. "This might cause us a bit of trouble, we're trying to deal with it, but we need more information," was the uniform rallying call.

A series of minor problems, then? Well, no. Because minor problems can develop into major ones where they intersect. There seem to be very few people willing or able to assess those scenarios.

What happens when minor problems in food availability bump into hauliers who still don't know what forms they have to fill, a border that is understaffed and traffic delays? Anybody with project planning experience will tell you that the biggest risk is when minor risks interact.

A representative of the Hauliers' Association raised a fascinating point: the profit margins in the industry are slim and every driver sitting in a truck that is not moving costs money - in fuel, in salary, in opportunity cost. What happens if it becomes economically unattractive to send your drivers to the UK at all? This would not be a gentle curve. It'd be a tipping point.

When Heathrow Terminal 5 launched, its first day wasn't a failure because someone had overlooked anything truly major. Staff had a bit of trouble getting into the parking lot with their new passes, Security, unfamiliar with the new screening systems, took a little longer. One baggage belt didn't work. A minor computer glitch led to some flights leaving without any passenger luggage. By the afternoon, 34 flights had been cancelled and the terminal was full of queues of angry incoming and outgoing passengers.

This is one of the issues with the practical sector-by-sector approach, especially with such little time for those sectors to talk to each other and explore contingencies for the intersection of their individual unknown-unknowns.

One of the reasons we're so confused by this issue at the moment is because it is misrepresented to the public through the medium of broadcast TV 'balance'.

A member of the public calling in to ask whether his European health insurance card will work after a disorderly exit does not require balance. He needs an answer. An insurance expert saying 'well, in the absence of a side deal being struck between now and then, the short answer is 'no'' need not be balanced by a pundit droning on over Skype about 'project fear'.

This is not a contentious issue. It is a factual one. There is only one credible reading of it. The view of someone who has worked in the industry for thirty years is not equilibrant to the pundit who quickly Googled the issue in the green room. But on that day of BBC no-deal coverage, that's exactly what happened.

As if to make this even more painfully obvious, at the end of each hour, for a few minutes of a lighter item, the BBC was looking at a piece of research that suggested "the secret to protecting your seaside chips from scavenging seagulls is to stare at them".

They chatted to experts - people from the university that conducted the research, a zoologist specialising in seagulls and a wildlife photographer who had been around the birds for decades. They felt no need to have a Telegraph pundit, who once saw a seagull in Brighton, contradict the findings for balance. Our public broadcaster covers seagull behaviour with more rigour and integrity than no-deal Brexit.

But there are those of us who remember that three years ago a slender majority voted to let the Brexit Seagull take one of our chips, in exchange for the sunlit uplands of sovereignty, prosperity and "the easiest deal in history". As the narrative mutates into suggesting we all consented for the seagull to take the whole bag of chips in exchange for crapping on our head as it flies away, I intend to stick with the expert approach: I will stare the bastard down, however much it squawks and flaps its wings, until it backs off.

[writing-royza]

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Fifteen - Pomp and Circumstance

A/N: Happy… well, Wednesday, everyone. Sorry - it was a long weekend up here in Canada, and between that and being busy, I lost track of my update schedule. Thanks for waiting.

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Fifteen - Pomp and Circumstance

OUTSIDE JADAD, ISHVAL

1042 HOURS, APRIL 21

The city walls seemed to rise seamlessly out of the desert itself, the rocky ground giving birth to the crumbling bricks as they climbed toward the sky. Here and there were craters in the structure where Amestrian attacks had left their marks on the city defenses. Whole other sections were gaps with floors of rubble, offering glimpses into the city beyond… and all of it made Roy's stomach churn.

Taking a deep breath against the sudden, guilt-ridden nausea, he resettled his hands on the steering wheel and fixed his gaze on the city's main gates just ahead. Maybe it wasn't guilt unsettling his stomach; they were about to come face to face with the decidedly monumental task of helping an entire people rebuild lives that had been shattered years beforehand. Nerves, he told himself. It's just nerves.

And yet he knew he was lying to himself.

Miles' horse pulled up beside the open driver's side window, the man riding it looking more relaxed than Roy had ever seen him be up north at Briggs. He no longer wore darkly-tinted snow goggles to hide his red eyes, his tanned skin seeming to glow in the warm sun of the spring solstice.

"There's an open plaza about a quarter of a mile straight in from the gates," he called, over the noise of the truck's engine. "We'll have to pass through one of the main arterial streets to get there. You're going to be stared at."

"We're pretty used to that," Roy answered, doing his level best to keep the anxiety out of his voice. "And truth be told, I half expected it. We don't exactly blend in, even in these clothes." He tugged at the front of the loose, light cotton tunic Scar had presented him with at the Armstrong mansion, simultaneously indicating the calf-length, wide-sleeved dress Riza was wearing with a tilt of his head. Both of them had the traditional striped sashes belted around their waists, as they had been shown, as well as comfortable cotton pants and sandals.

Roy wasn't sure of the last time he'd worn anything on his feet that required them to be bare, but it made for an interesting and welcome change. Riza, used to going barefoot in the confines of her apartment, had left her sandals in the footwell of the passenger seat, absentmindedly wiggling her toes in the warm air as she watched the landscape pass outside.

Miles granted him a smile for the comment. "True enough. Shift down to first gear; the clan leaders will ride in front as we enter the city, and Scar and I will provide a rearguard." He shrugged. "Not that there's anything to guard against; no one here will try anything if you're travelling with the clan leaders."

He reined his horse in, dropping back alongside the truck as it rolled forward, leaving the two Amestrians alone once again. Roy glanced over in time to see Riza's eyes go toward the glove compartment in front of her….

"I know what you're thinking," he said quietly, half a warning in his tone. "We won't need it."

"I know we won't." Her voice was just as quiet, and nearly flat with self-imposed calm. "I wasn't even going to reach for it. I just feel better reminding myself that it's there." Those brown eyes rose to his, with a slight smile. "I know the rules: no gun, no gloves, no problem."

They lapsed into silence as the huge wall grew nearer. The three horses of the clan leaders cantered ahead, Leader Mharyys turning in the saddle to motion them to follow. Roy downshifted to keep from overrunning the three men, and the little convoy fell into a more sedate pace. A glance in the side mirrors showed Scar and Miles keeping easy pace to either side.

It wasn't like a triumphal return to the city as part of a military caravan. There was no musical fanfare from brassy trumpets, no ticker tape, no confetti raining down from buildings or thrown by a cheering public. No drums to keep marchers in time, no cries of slogans or the names of public heroes….

Instead, the shouting voices were those of the clan leaders, calling what Roy could only assume was 'Clear the way!' in the Ishvalan tongue. People walking the dusty laid-stone avenue glanced over their shoulders and moved unconcernedly out of the way of both horses and truck. Wide-eyed children clung to their mothers' skirts or their fathers' hands, although more than one tried reaching out curiously toward the passing horses before being tugged back.

He was aware, uncomfortably, of the surprise in people's faces when they caught sight of either him or Riza. Red eyes found the pale skin first, then went to either his dark hair or the blonde strands just visible under the loosely wrapped head scarf Scar had helped Riza put on that morning. As the truck continued down the straight street to the open space of the plaza at its end, Roy glanced in the side mirrors in time to see surprised citizens begin whispering to their neighbours.

It took nearly ten minutes for the little convoy to inch their way along the street into the open space of the plaza beyond. When they did, he barely heard Riza's soft gasp over the sound of his own.

He had originally thought that the carved façade of the building in front of them had been one of several lining the circular space. It became apparent as they entered that it was one building that encircled the entire plaza. A covered colonnade in front shaded stone benches and large pots housing colourful desert flowers. A single archway directly opposite the plaza's main entrance stood two stories high, giving entrance to the shadowed interior while smaller arches in the recesses of the colonnade granted pedestrian and cart traffic access to the rest of the city.

"I don't recognize this place from the war," Riza murmured, her tone full of awe. "It looks like it was hardly touched at all…."

"Most of the fighting in Jadad was done on the south and east sides of the city," Roy answered, his voice hushed. Shaking himself back to reality, he followed where the clan leaders were directing him to, pulling the truck to a stop outside the tall archway. "Could be that none of it reached this far, though it'd be nothing short of a miracle if that's the case."

He waited a moment while Riza slipped her feet into her sandals, and both of them descended from the cab. The moment he opened the door, the heat hit Roy like a wall. He half-tensed, expecting sweat to spring up instantly on his skin and start causing his clothes to cling… and relaxed. Yes, it was hot, but even the faintest breeze wove through the light fabric, cooling him.

The cobblestones underfoot were swept with sand, his footsteps making gritting sounds as he moved around the front of the truck. Riza joined him, brushing travel wrinkles from her dress while quick brown eyes took in the curious onlookers beginning to filter into the plaza, following the strange military vehicle that had entered their city.

"Pretty obvious we can't go farther in the truck from here," Roy said quietly, watching the clan leaders dismount. "But this feels like we're being led to a meeting. I wonder who they're waiting for?"

"I don't know, sir," was the soft answer. "But I would expect it to have both political and cultural significance. Play it carefully."

Scar and Miles joined them moments later, and with a few murmured directions, the group started through the colonnade and arch into the cool, dry-aired interior of the massive building. Miles spoke in a low voice as they went.

"This is your formal welcome to Ishval, one that will assure the people you come in good faith, of free will, and not for any purpose against the Ishvalan people," he explained. "If you were one of us, it wouldn't be necessary outside your own family circle, but outsiders…." He smiled wryly. "Well, our religion calls for a little showmanship in expressing hospitality to foreign guests."

Roy opened his mouth to ask just what Miles meant… but thought better of it and closed it again. He was liable only to get a cryptic 'you'll see' or 'wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, sir' if he asked; better just to sit back and let the surprise happen. Not exactly his strong suit, but he could handle it for the sake of diplomacy.

When they emerged from the passage into a sunlit inner courtyard, Roy was no longer concerned with holding his tongue. He lost the power of speech entirely.

Like the plaza outside, the room was circular, rising four stories into the air and topped with a deceptively delicate-looking dome of glass panes divided by shining steel ribs. Sheets of white cloth hung suspended between what Roy could only assume were retractable rods that would spread to eliminate glare and heat during the hottest parts of the day.

And the books. Of the four stories of this immense library, each floor was lined in an orderly fashion with shelves – tucked underneath overhangs that would protect them from the sun – that led away to the borders of the vast room. The shelves were not filled, not by any stretch of the imagination, but every one held at least one book or collection of scrolls, or some old artifact. Roy stopped in the doorway, one hand moving to rest on his hip, the other covering his mouth and clamping firmly to his chin to keep his jaw from dropping.

Behind him, he heard Riza breathe a pair of words that might have been awed and amazed had he actually been able to hear what she said.

"I'm glad to see you're impressed with our collection, Colonel."

He tore his eyes away from the upper stories to the man standing in the centre of the room. Sets of four steps at a time divided three terraces set with study tables and chairs to a recessed platform at the bottom. Two semi-circular desks – probably for the resident librarians — had been moved away to the edges of the platform, leaving an open space scattered with broad, brightly-coloured cushions.

The man was tall and muscular, a dark moustache covering his upper lip. His sash wrapped around his waist and up over his shoulder, returning to drape over his arm as Scar's did. As they approached, the warrior priest stepped ahead a few feet to drop to one knee before the man.

"Master."

"Welcome home," the older man greeted him, his voice warm though his face remained neutral. "You have done well to guide our visitors here. Both you, and Miles."

Roy watched as Scar regained his feet and stepped aside, then stepped forward himself. As they had discussed, Riza stayed where she was, watchful and silent. They were a team, a package deal… but this was something they both knew he had to do alone. Stopping after the last step down to the platform, he was careful to keep his back and shoulders straight, and not to bow too deeply or not enough. Pronouncing the foreign greeting carefully, as Scar had instructed him, he spoke clearly.

"I bow to you."

The old warrior's face lit with a proud smile, and he stepped forward. "I bow to the godhead within," he responded in the traditional greeting, the light from overhead glinting off his bare scalp as he bowed. Roy couldn't help but feel relief that it had gone this smoothly. Scar's Master switched back to Amestrian to say, "Someone has taught you our words well, Colonel."

"Only because that person was also taught well," he said. "And I have reason now to believe you are responsible for that education."

"You would be correct." The Master glanced over to where his student was silently watching the display. "He continues to be an occasionally troublesome pupil, but he is one of the best I ever trained." His gaze turned to where Riza waited up on the next terrace, her hands folded behind her back. "I don't believe I know your associate, Colonel."

"Ah." Half-turning, Roy extended a hand; Riza took it as she stepped gracefully down the stone steps to the ground, letting go to draw herself into proper military posture by his left shoulder. "Allow me to introduce my adjutant and bodyguard, First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye." He hesitated only briefly before adding, "A veteran of the civil war, like myself."

The good humour did not leave the Master's face, though a glint of appraisal did lend itself to the older man's eye. "A bodyguard? Impressive…."

Quick as lightning, his right hand rose, snaking toward the side of Roy's unprotected neck.

It made a flat smack! sound as it landed in the palm of Riza's deflecting hand. Barely had it touched her before she wrenched on the attached arm, actually dragging the Master a half-step to the side. Dropping his arm, her right hand balled into a fist that cannoned toward his jaw. The Master, still looking mostly unfazed, kept his feet planted but swayed backward so that her punch hit nothing but air.

One large hand rose to gently cup her fist, pushing it down out of his face as he stood straight. "Well done, Lieutenant," he said, admiringly. "Whoever taught you to fight must have been a well-studied teacher to instruct such an apt pupil. Am I right in thinking they are… a boxer?"

"Yes, sir," she answered, not even slightly out of breath from the brief exchange though her eyes betrayed her irritation. "Though, if I may, if you wanted to test my abilities, there are more opportune times."

The pleased look in the Master's eyes dimmed somewhat as he grew serious once again. "It was not simply your abilities I meant to test," he explained soberly. "Word has reached us of what happened between you and the reporter in East City."

Roy looked over at her in time to see her gaze plummet to the floor, the faintest tinge of red appearing in her cheeks. Everything inside told him to jump in, to spare her having to account for her actions yet again… but he held his silence. It would gain him nothing with her to leap to her defense when she was capable of doing it herself, and to defend herself was something Riza needed to do. Her first public declaration of her stance….

"My thinking has been… clouded, since the Promised Day," she said, cutting across Roy's thoughts. "As you may or may not know, I came very close to death that day, and something like that has certain repercussions even on the strongest of psyches. I saw what I thought to be a threat, and I'm sorry to say that I was wrong."

The Master regarded her with a thoughtful look for a moment longer, before breaking the brief silence. "I would be more concerned over the actions you took if you did not show remorse," he commented. "The proper skills are all well and good to have, but humility and self-awareness are ones that are difficult to teach and harder to learn. I'm glad to see that you possess both."

Turning aside, he motioned to the cushions scattered about the platform, strategically changing the subject. "And now, I believe it's time we got down to business. Please, all of you: be seated."

He waited until each of them occupied one of the large cushions, the three clan leaders arraying themselves behind Scar and Miles, before speaking further. "I decided it would be most fitting to receive you here, Colonel, in a place of knowledge. I'm given to understand that alchemy is a lifelong study, both through books and experimentation." He smiled. "I hoped you might find the atmosphere comfortable."

"It's certainly one of the better libraries I've seen," Roy admitted, his eyes involuntarily tracking upward once again. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "Let's hope that it inspires the reconstruction effort with all the knowledge and wisdom it needs to meet success."

"I have every confidence that it will." The Master's eyes drifted to something past Roy's shoulder, and one hand rose to make a beckoning motion. "Though if you might permit me one concession…."

Both soldiers looked back to find the crowd of Ishvalan citizens who had followed the truck to the library now filtering into the building and spreading along the sides of the room, some moving up flights of spiral stairs to the floors above.

"Our culture believes in momentous events being witnessed by the people," the Master explained. "Weddings, funerals, political meetings…. They tend to take place in open spaces, where the citizenry can watch as they please. It is our belief that it draws us closer together as a culture and a society." He hesitated briefly as he caught the look that passed between Colonel and Lieutenant. "…However, if it makes you uncomfortable…."

"Not in the slightest," Roy assured him. "We just hadn't expected it. Personally, I think it's a great idea."

What he didn't admit out loud was that he knew he and Riza had had the same thought about such a large crowd of onlookers. There were some in the city that were bound to remember both the civil war and Roy's place in it. Human memory ran deep, especially when a grievous wrong had been committed, and he fully expected that, at some point, an angry survivor of the genocide would confront them. And what better place to perpetrate an act of revenge on one of the most powerful State alchemists than when his back was turned and his guard was down, in front of clan leaders and general populace alike?

And yet, in her eyes, he had seen the same reluctant conclusion. Yes, their personal security was at risk in a position like this… but there was nothing for it now but to continue. To change the arrangements would be an insult to both the Master and Ishvalan cultural tradition. Roy would not risk alienating the people, not so soon. Not even for the sake of his own safety. Not when the stakes were this high.

A young, bareheaded man approached the platform, carrying a wooden tray in his hands. It had been lacquered repeatedly until the wood had a glossy shine to it, the light reflecting off it to glint against the teapot and and cups balanced on it. He knelt to one side of the space between the Master and Roy, who watched with deferent silence as tea was poured into the first pair of cups.

Roy watched for clues as to what he was supposed to do as the Master was presented with the first cup. He accepted it with both hands, then turned and passed it to Scar, who received it the same way. The second cup, following the same pattern, went to Miles.

At the same time, a second young man approached from the other side, his tray carrying a large, still-steaming loaf of hardy brown bread, the top of its crust sprinkled with the dark flecks of herbs. He knelt across from his partner, beginning to methodically divide the bread with his hands into rough, fist-sized chunks.

Roy brought his attention back to the first young man in time to accept the handle-less tea mug being passed to him. As he had seen the Master do, he turned and handed it to Riza. Her fingers were cool against his, in contrast to the warmth of the mug, but Roy didn't allow himself to dwell on the comfortable sensation of her touch. He faced forward once again, accepting his own cup and watching as the last one was served to the Master.

"We welcome our guests with food and drink!" the Master called out, raising his voice so that it echoed pleasantly off the curved walls of the library. "We welcome them to our lands, our homes, our tables, and our hearts, in the name of our God and in the spirit of his hospitality!" He raised his cup in his right hand; behind him, Miles saw Roy's start to do the same and shook his head minutely in warning. Roy quicked stayed the instinct. "May our dealings receive his blessing, as may we all."

Again, Miles made eye contact, this time his tiny gesture being a nod. Following the Master's example, Roy lifted the earthenware cup to his lips, trying not to let the sip he took appear cautious. The scent of green tea laced with some kind of flower wreathed around his face as he swallowed.

Following the Master's cue once more, he placed the now half-empty mug on the floor as the pieces of bread were distributed in the same way as the tea. The Master was served last, as before, though he did not raise his portion before speaking.

"In sharing tea and bread, we extend a solemn promise," he said, his tone and expression grave. "A guest who has received this hospitality will come to no harm from the Ishvalan people. It is our law. Only friends are invited to be shared with, not our foes, and there is no state between the two."

Roy watched closely, tearing his piece in two as the Master did, and taking a bite from the portion in his right hand. His head wanted to spin from the bombardment of ceremony and circumstance, but he forced his mind to stay on task. The bread was rough textured, as one might expect of a hardy desert diet, but smooth in flavour. The herbs on top lent it a savoury quality that would make it a perfect side to hot beef stew on a cold winter day….

No. On task.

The party on the central platform stayed silent, the rest of their bread portions being consumed between sips of the fragrant tea. The crowd on the balconies was hushed in respect for the ceremony, somehow watching without making Roy feel too uncomfortable.

At last, the Master brushed bread crumbs from his hands, and stood. Miles motioned subtly for Roy to do the same, while he, Scar, and Riza stayed seated on their cushions. The Master stepped forward, his smile reserved but proud. "Colonel Roy Mustang, it is my deepest pleasure to welcome you and your aide to Ishval." He pressed his palms together, bowing as the clan leaders had done two days before, slipping into the Ishvalan tongue for the formal greeting, "I bow to you."

Careful to keep his own smile under rigid control, although it wanted to spread ear to ear in the excitement at this progress, Roy bowed solemnly to the older man, the reply flowing from his tongue more easily than it had ever done in his practice with Scar. "I bow to the godhead within."

Despite being in a library, cheers and roars of approval leapt from the crowd, echoing off the walls and glass ceiling. Traditional Ishvalan sashes were waved amid applause and the stamping of feet, the cacophony continuing as the Master moved to pull Riza to her feet, shaking her hand as well. Miles and Scar stood, both watching with small smiles and obvious pride.

Something swelled in Roy's chest, a combination of relief, excitement, and happiness that felt for a moment like it might constrict his breathing. He glanced over, seeing the same emotions reflected brightly in Riza's eyes, and wished more than anything that he could hold her. Could hug her tightly, bury his face in the soft fall of her hair, and have her whisper, "You did it," in his ear as she hugged him back.

Then again, he didn't have to hear her say it. He could see the words in the expression on her face.

CITY OF JADAD

1207 HOURS, APRIL 21

What followed the welcoming ceremony was something like an open reception. The crowd that had watched from the perimeter of the room gathered on the first floor, and those who had taken part in the ceremony were free to circulate through. Riza's right hand had been shaken so many times, she felt as though it had been pressed to half its usual thickness.

Roy had been in his element, his politician's streak peeking through his boyish façade as he smiled and shook hands through the endless barrage of introductions. Riza had followed behind him, her own smile polite and professional, but not unfriendly. Though she admitted to herself that she was getting tired of hearing the phrase "my assistant, First Lieutenant Hawkeye."

Finally, after an hour, people began to trickle out, returning to their daily routines. It took another thirty minutes for only stragglers to remain, at which point, the Master gathered the core group together again, leading them outside into the midday sun. The truck was left where it was, the five of them turning to the left, toward one of the smaller archways leading out of the plaza and deeper into the city.

"I believe it was mentioned to you before you arrived that it is necessary you be consecrated by a priest of Ishvala," the Master commented, leading the way along the colonnade. "Is that agreeable to you, Colonel?"

He didn't hesitate in his answer. "We're here to do things in the Ishvalan tradition," he pointed out. "That shouldn't stop at reconstruction or the changing of government policies. Not even at a welcoming ceremony. We either observe all necessary traditions or none at all."

The Master's smile proved that to be the right answer. "I appreciate your willingness to be so open-minded. Many Amestrian soldiers who were in the civil war would not be so ready to take part in something so foreign."

This time, Riza spoke before Roy could. "You'll pardon my saying so, sir, but after everything we witnessed on the Promised Day… the traditions of a different culture don't seem as strange and foreign as they used to." She gave a small, rueful smile as the Master glanced back. "Welcoming ceremonies and blessings have more normality than the forced removal of souls and the unholy creation of all-powerful beings."

The Master chuckled quietly, facing forward once again. "A very good point, Lieutenant. And an interesting worldview."

The way to Jadad's closest temple was roughly half a mile through streets that were uncrowded and relatively easy to travel. Where buildings had been damaged or destroyed in the war, their rubble left strewn in the way of pedestrians, it had been shunted out of the way into disused alleyways, or into the small yards of vacant residences. Citizens going about their errands didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, offering smiles or nods of greeting to the Master, Scar, or Miles as they passed.

"We began tidying up the city with this sector first," Miles said over his shoulder. "About a month before the Promised Day, the Ishvalans that were living in the ruins of Xerxes made their way here, and started to make things a little more habitable. They knew there would be more of us arriving once the situation in Central changed, and they wanted to make sure our people would have roofs over their heads when they arrived back in the holy land."

"They also knew that, with this side of the city being the closest to Amestris, it's where most of the refugees would be arriving from," Scar put in. "Better that shelter be close at hand, rather than force them to walk through rubble or around the outside of the city to get to a habitable area."

"Good thinking," Roy commented. His eyes were roaming the front sides of buildings; taking in the architectural styles and types of buildings, Riza suspected. "And with the streets here mostly cleared already, transporting supplies to other, harder hit sections will be easier. It's better to start in one place and slowly spread outward, rather than try and fix random sections all at the same time."

"Like ripples in a pool of water," the Master agreed. "Changing the surface, but not the contents."

The temple loomed ahead, a two-storey flat-topped ziggurat, with an open-air pavilion at the top. People were scattered on the stepped sides of the structure, standing in conversation or seated to pore over scrolls and books. The style of their robes and sashes marked them as part of the priesthood.

A path leading up to the front of the ziggurat was lined on either side with low adobe walls, the open space they encircled filled with flat stone plaques embedded in the dirt. Names and numbers were carved into them, some faded by scouring sand, others not yet worn down by the passage of time.

"One of our most ancient burial grounds," Miles said quietly, when he saw Riza's eyes travelling over the rows of plaques. "This particular one was most commonly used by scholars and intellectuals, before the war. Though there are a fair amount of everyday citizens and tradespeople."

"It seems very… peaceful," she answered, trying not to reveal the shiver that had curled its way up her spine just before he spoke.

They paused at the foot of the structure to remove their sandals, lining them up neatly to one side, where they would be out of the way. The steps up the side of the temple were interspersed with narrow landings, to give climbers' legs a break in their ascent. At the top, a light breeze swept through the few columns, carrying on it the scents of cookfires, clean air, and sand. An old man dressed in a white robe belted by a white sash stood from where he had been sitting with a small pile of scrolls.

"Ah, I see you've brought our visitors." Crossing the space toward them, he clasped hands first with Roy, and then Riza. "I trust your journey here went smoothly. Heaven knows that starting such a task as the reconstruction with harrowing travel is hardly the way to get things done." His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, the expression half-hidden behind a neatly trimmed moustache and beard. "There have been enough trials. It is time for celebration and rebirth."

Roy answered the smile in kind. "We're happy to have received such a warm welcome. It's more than the Lieutenant or I hoped for, or even thought possible, given the roles we played in the war." His smile faded. "I'd be lying if I said we didn't hope to get something personal out of this venture. Something at least close to atonement, if not the real thing."

The priest's hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing briefly. "Well then, son, you find yourself in the right place at just the right time." He turned, motioning them to follow. "Come. In order for Ishvala's work to be done, his blessing must be asked."

The Master, Scar, and Miles hung back, at the edge of the pavilion. Riza supposed that, as native Ishvalans, they had either already been blessed or else that blessing was somehow… inherent. The canvas 'roof' of the pavilion fluttered in the breeze, pierced at points so that it would not billow and strain, causing the sun to dance in a dappled pattern on the white flagstones.

The old priest led them to a circle of white cushions in the pavilion's centre, ringed around a shallow, sand-filled bowl in the stone floor about four feet in diameter. After making sure they were seated comfortably, the priest moved to the opposite side. He paused a moment, seeming to order his thoughts, before beginning to speak in the Ishvalan language.

The lilt of the words rose and fell with the distinct cadence of a prayer. Riza's gaze dropped to where her hands rested in her lap, aware that beside her, Roy was doing the same. It felt strange, when neither of them were practicers of any Amestrian religion… but this was necessary. And oddly enough, after the strange killer's attack on her in Grumman's East City apartment… this was helping her to feel somehow… clean. Clean in a way that the bath afterward hadn't.

It's one thing to clean the body, she thought idly. It's another to clean the soul.

The prayer ended with a pause, before the priest spoke on for another few minutes. This time, the words held the instructive, informative tone of something like a sermon. It was brief, not even five minutes, and Riza spent the time listening to the near-musical flow of the strange words.

When he had finished, the priest knelt on the cool stone floor, leaning forward to smooth the sand in the basin before him. Riza watched his fingers nudging the tiny grains into place, feeling the motion calm her further still. It makes sense they would use sand as part of ceremonies, she mused. Ishvala is an earth god, and fertile soil is too precious out here to be used for anything other than farming. There's certainly no shortage of sand, though.

When the sand in the basin had been completely smoothed, the priest drew three careful characters in the Ishvalan alphabet directly in front of Roy. The process was repeated, this time with four characters in front of Riza. It was immediately clear that these were their names, making the blessing that much more personal. Or so she assumed.

The priest sat straight, one hand held out palm down over either name, his head tilted back and eyes closed in a new prayer. He spoke the words first in Ishvalan, then a second time in an Amestrian translation, for their benefit.

"Ishvala, we ask for three gifts in the work that lies ahead. We ask for strength of character, for diligence, and for integrity."

Reaching down, he took a fistful of the sand Roy's name was written in, and another of Riza's. Coming back around to their side of the basin, he stood between them. "Hold both hands out, cupped together," he instructed quietly. Once they had both complied, he held his closed fists roughly two feet above. "The blessing asked, I pass it on to you," he said, solemnly. "May it colour all your work here, and all your interactions."

Riza watched his hand turn, watched the sand begin to trickle out in a thin stream down toward her waiting hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Roy watching the grit pour into his own palms. The formality of the ceremony weighed heavy on her shoulders… but only for a minute.

No more than a tablespoon of sand had collected in the palms of her hands than the skin there erupted with a feeling like fire, and she screamed.

[ezatluba]

Rainforest is cleared for cattle farming along the Trans-Amazonian Highway. Clearing like this is linked to the spread of infectious diseases like malaria.

Rainforest is cleared for cattle farming along the Trans-Amazonian Highway. Clearing like this is linked to the spread of infectious diseases like malaria.

Deforestation is leading to more infectious diseases in humans

As more and more forest is cleared around the world, scientists fear that the next deadly pandemic could emerge from what lives within them.

BY KATARINA ZIMMER

NOVEMBER 22, 2019

In 1997, clouds of smoke hung over the rainforests of Indonesia as an area roughly the size of Pennsylvania was burned to make way for agriculture, the fires exacerbated by drought. Smothered in haze, the trees couldn’t produce fruit, leaving resident fruit bats with no other option than to fly elsewhere in search of food, carrying with them a deadly disease.

Not long after the bats settled on trees in Malaysian orchards, pigs around them started to fall sick—presumably after eating fallen fruit the bats had nibbled on—as did local pig farmers. By 1999, 265 people had developed a severe brain inflammation, and 105 had died. It was the first known emergence of Nipah virus in people, which has since caused a string of recurrent outbreaks across Southeast Asia.

It’s one of many infectious diseases usually confined to wildlife that have spilled over to people in areas undergoing rapid forest clearing. Over the past two decades, a growing body of scientific evidence suggests that deforestation, by triggering a complex cascade of events, creates the conditions for a range of deadly pathogens—such as Nipah and Lassa viruses, and the parasites that cause malaria and Lyme disease—to spread to people.

(Humans are clearing forests on a massive scale, mostly for farming. Learn more about deforestation.)

As widespread burning continues today in tropical forests in the Amazon, and some parts of Africa and Southeast Asia, experts have expressed concern about the health of people living at the frontiers of deforestation. They’re also afraid that the next serious pandemic could emerge from our world’s forests.

“It’s pretty well established that deforestation can be a strong driver of infectious disease transmission,” says Andy MacDonald, a disease ecologist at the Earth Research Institute of the University of California, Santa Barbara. “It’s a numbers game: The more we degrade and clear forest habitats, the more likely it is that we’re going to find ourselves in these situations where epidemics of infectious diseases occur.”

Forests cover about 30 percent of the planet, but these habitats are being cleared on a massive scale. What is deforestation? Find out the causes, effects, and solutions.

A direct link

Malaria—which kills over a million annually due to infection by Plasmodium parasites transmitted by mosquitoes—has long been suspected of going hand in hand with deforestation. In Brazil, while control efforts have dramatically reduced malaria transmission in the past—bringing 6 million cases a year in the 1940s down to just 50,000 by the 1960s—cases have since been steadily rising again in parallel with rapid forest clearing and expansion of agriculture. At the turn of the century, there were over 600,000 cases a year in the Amazon basin.

Work in the late 1990s by Amy Vittor, an epidemiologist at the University of Florida’s Emerging Pathogens Institute, and others, suggested a reason why. Clearing patches of forest appears to create ideal habitat along forest edges for the mosquito Anopheles darlingi—the most important transmitter of malaria in the Amazon—to breed. Through careful surveys in the Peruvian Amazon, she found higher numbers of larvae in warm, partially shaded pools, the kind that form beside roads cut into forests and puddles behind debris where water is no longer taken up by trees.

“Those were the [places] that Anopheles darlingi really enjoyed being,” Vittor recalls.

A man sprays to kill the Aedes mosquito that carries the yellow fever virus in Matadi, Democratic Republic of the Congo.

In a complex analysis of satellite and health data published recently in the journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, MacDonald and Stanford University’s Erin Mordecai reported a significant impact of deforestation across the Amazon basin on malaria transmission, in line with some previous research.

Between 2003 and 2015, on average, they estimated that a 10 percent yearly increase in forest loss led to a 3 percent rise in malaria cases. For example, in one year of the study, an additional 618-square-mile (1,600-square-kilometer) patch of cleared forest—the equivalent of nearly 300,000 football fields—was linked to an additional 10,000 cases of malaria. This effect was most pronounced in the interior of the forest, where some patches of forest are still intact, providing the moist edge habitat that the mosquitoes like.

With the ongoing burning of the Amazon, these results don’t bode well; The latest data, issued this week, reveals an area 12 times the size of New York City has been destroyed so far this year.

“I am concerned about what’s going to happen with transmission following the end of the fires,” MacDonald says.

It’s hard to generalize about mosquito ecology, which varies depending on species and region, Vittor stresses. In Africa, studies have found little association between malaria and deforestation—perhaps because the mosquito species there like to breed in sunlit bodies of water and favor open farmland over shady forest areas. But in Sabah, a part of Malaysian Borneo, malaria outbreaks also occur in tandem with bursts of forest clearing for palm oil and other plantations.

Fever from the jungle

Mosquitoes aren’t the only animals that can transmit deadly scourges to people. In fact, 60 percent of new infectious diseases that emerge in people—including HIV, Ebola, and Nipah, all of which originated in forest-dwelling animals—are transmitted by a range of other animals, the vast majority of them wildlife.

In a 2015 study, researchers at Ecohealth Alliance, a New York-based non-profit that tracks infectious diseases globally, and others found that “nearly one in three outbreaks of new and emerging disease[s] are linked to land-use change like deforestation,” the organization’s president Peter Daszak tweeted earlier this year.

Many viruses exist harmlessly with their host animals in forests, because the animals have co-evolved with them. But humans can become unwitting hosts for pathogens when they venture into or change forest habitat.

“We are completely changing the structure of the forest,” notes Carlos Zambrana-Torrelio, a disease ecologist at Ecohealth Alliance.

Deadly attraction

Diseases can also occur when new habitats draw disease-carrying species out of the forest.

For instance, in Liberia forest clearings for palm oil plantations attract hordes of typically forest-dwelling mice, lured there by the abundance of palm fruit around plantations and settlements. Humans can contract Lassa virus when they come into contact with food or objects contaminated with feces or urine of virus-carrying rodents or bodily fluids of infected people. In humans, the virus causes hemorrhagic fever—the same kind of illness triggered by Ebola virus—and in Liberia killed 36 percent of infected people.

Virus-carrying rodents have also been spotted in deforested areas in Panama, Bolivia, and in Brazil. Alfonso Rodriguez-Morales, a medical researcher and tropical disease expert at Colombia’s Universidad Tecnológica de Pereira, fears that their ranges will increase following the resurgence of fires in the Amazon this year.

Such processes aren’t limited to tropical diseases. Some of MacDonald’s research has revealed a curious association between deforestation and Lyme disease in the Northeastern United States.

Borrelia burgdorferi, the bacterium that causes Lyme disease—is transmitted by ticks that rely on forest-dwelling deer to breed and obtain enough blood to survive. However, the bacterium is also found in the white-footed mouse, which happens to thrive in forests fragmented by human settlements, MacDonald says.

Spillovers of infectious diseases to people is more likely to occur in the tropics because overall wildlife and pathogen diversity is higher, he adds. There, a number of diseases transmitted by a wide range of animals—from blood-sucking bugs to snails—have been linked to deforestation. On top of known diseases, scientists fear that a number of yet-unknown deadly diseases are lurking in forests that could be exposed as people encroach further.

Zambrana-Torrelio notes that the likelihood of spillovers to people may increase as the climate warms, pushing animals, along with the viruses they carry, into regions where they’ve never existed before, he says.

Whether such diseases stay confined to forest fringes or if they gain their own foothold in people, unleashing a potential pandemic, depends on their transmission, Vittor says. Some viruses, like Ebola or Nipah, can be transmitted directly between people, theoretically allowing them to travel around the world as long as there are humans.

Zika virus, which was discovered in Ugandan forests in the 20th century, could only cruise the world and infect millions because it found a host in Aedes aegpti, a mosquito that thrives in urban areas.

“I’d hate to think that another or several other pathogens could do such a thing, but it’d be foolish not to think of that as a possibility to prepare for,” says Vittor.

A new service

Ecohealth Alliance researchers have proposed that containing diseases could be considered a new ecosystem service, that is, a benefit that humans freely gain from natural ecosystems, just like carbon storage and pollination.

To make that case, their team has been working in Malaysian Borneo to itemize the exact cost of malaria, down to each hospital bed, and syringe that doctors use. On average, they found that the Malaysian government spends around $5,000 to treat each new malaria patient in the region—in some areas much more than they spend on malaria control, Zambrana-Torrelio says.

Over time, that adds up, outweighing the profits that could be gained by cutting forests down and making a compelling financial argument to leave some forests standing, Daszak says.

He and his colleagues are beginning work with the Malaysian government to incorporate this into land use planning, and are undertaking a similar project with Liberian officials to calculate the cost of Lassa fever outbreaks there.

MacDonald sees value in this idea: “If we can conserve the environment, then perhaps we can also protect health,” he says. “That I think is the silver lining that we should keep in mind.”