737th Battalion Forward Operating Base
Agdemnar

My Darling Clarissa,

I pray this letter finds you well, my love. I fear I am fast losing hope here in the trenches. It is the thought of seeing you again one day that keeps my heart beating. The nights here are intolerably cold without the heat of your chaste heaving bosom-

The prefab module’s hatch swung open to admit one of Private Lyndon’s bunkmates and a draft of hot, dusty air. The Vit’azny corporal hurriedly covered the piece of paper he’d been writing on with one of his spare skinsuits and tried to look casual. The newly arrived Private Hicks gave him a curious look, but apparently thought nothing further of it and partially unzipped his skinsuit as he headed towards the module’s sonic shower. Lyndon turned his head slightly, his nostrils tightening in response to the odor that inevitably came off a human soldier who’d spent all day in the trenches.

Hicks had evidently been counting on that reaction; in an instant he snatched the piece of paper out from under Lyndon’s hand and danced back across the module and out of immediate reach. He scanned the letter’s opening lines, and a smirk grew across his face.

“Not one word, Hicks” Lyndon growled threateningly.
“One word wouldn’t cover this train wreck Lyndon, what the fuck IS this?? Is her name really Clarissa? Chaste heaving bosom??” The smirk grew, and Hicks abruptly burst out laughing.
Lyndon seriously considered mauling the man, but the Sergeant would inevitably want to know why such a mauling had been necessary, which would have meant showing him the letter...so Lyndon sat in silence, head-tails twitching in mixed irritation and embarrassment as Hicks cackled away.

Eventually the human recovered from his mirth, sitting down on one of the 4 bunks and smirking at Lyndon. “You didn’t mention you had a girl back on Mandelabra,” he said in a light tone. “Clarissa…” he seemed to be testing the name out. “Sounds fancy. She a…”
“Citizen? Yes.”
Hicks nodded. “So that’s why you’re out here then,” his face growing more somber.
“Service guarantees citizenship,” Lyndon quoted the oft repeated mantra of the United Commonwealth Army. “Her family doesn’t have the money to pull me up, even if they were willing to. And no way she’ll tie herself down to Mandelabra for me, not to mention any kids we might have. So, service, citizenship, then we’ll see.”

Hicks nodded again. It was a common story in the army, common enough to be borderline depressing if one thought about it too carefully. “And the pen and paper? The old timey language?”
“She likes that sort of thing, alright? Shows it off to her friends”
The two were silent for a moment. Hicks didn’t bother saying what Lyndon already knew; there would be no mail sent home, not for a long time, if ever. The The 737th battalion was officially not on Agdemnar at all. The entire battalion was listed as AWOL back on Ursuli. The same was true of 8th fleet, in orbit under Admiral Maria Anisimova’s command in a ‘rogue operation’ that had been completely disavowed by the the Admiralty, by United Forces Command, and even by the Imperial Queen herself.

They were here on their ‘rogue operation’ to buy the Commonwealth time. To get a foot in the door at Agdemnar while the industrial behemoth of their homeland awoke. Two years, they’d been told, in a briefing for which there was no record. Two years at most, then the cavalry would come, one way or another. That still meant two years of fighting, bleeding and dying, without reinforcements, without relief, without hope. Citizenship was the light at the end of the tunnel for most of the boots on the ground. Dangled before them like bait; two years on Agdemnar instead of the usual twenty in the service. They just had to survive this planet for a little while longer…

The two soldiers were silent for a long while, until Hicks finally pulled out a memo pad. “Here,” he said to Lyndon, “I’ll help. You gotta seduce her my man. Don’t tell her about her ‘chaste heaving bosom’, make her tell you about it. There’s an art to-”

Hicks was interrupted by a wailing siren and a flashing orange light. The comm unit blared to life in the same moment. “Case Delta, repeat, Case Delta. All personnel to combat stations.”

The two of them were out the module’s hatch in a flash, clambering into the armored exoskeletons that awaited them in the outer module. A tech came rushing in from an adjacent module, unracking weapons and checking readouts on the exoskeletons. It was solid stuff, not as durable or powerful as proper shock trooper power armor, but significantly easier to get into and faster to power on, and the armor and shielding were good enough to keep the user alive most of the time. Hicks and Lyndon were out the door of the ‘airlock’ module within two minutes of the Case Delta. The trench they entered was packed with moving bodies, and the two soldiers joined the flow towards the perimeter.

Case Delta: orbital bombardment inbound. That would almost inevitably mean accompanying air attacks, and likely a charge across no-man’s land from the opposing trenches a kilometer or so in the distance. The zealots of the Ascendancy would almost certainly be repelled, but their fanaticism made them disregard their own well-being, and that made them dangerous.

Lyndon had just made it to the outer perimeter when the first wave of the bombardment crashed into the shield overhead, the resulting gravitic disturbances blurring the sky. In it’s current configuration, the shield could hold up almost indefinitely to bombardment, but the transfer energy still produced mild shockwaves and an ear-splitting racket. Lyndon gritted his teeth as the compressed air thumped into him and the sound assaulted his ears even through his helmet’s filters. He did his best to keep his rifle trained on no man’s land, peering down the sights and waiting for the first fanatics to charge.

The shriek of strikecraft entering the atmosphere caused Lyndon to look up; only for a moment, but when he returned his gaze to the Ascendancy lines, their soldiers were out of the trenches and charging across no man’s land. The timing on that was a clever new trick, a corner of Lyndon’s brain noted.

The overhead shield was a versatile thing. It’s standby configuration was completely impenetrable, but that same configuration would burn out the generator after all of 10 minutes of bombardment. It could also be ‘loosened’ to hold up better to orbital bombardment, but that configuration let slow moving objects pass through it with only minor resistance. Slow moving objects like, for example, a careful soldier, or a well piloted tank.

Lyndon’s rifle was configured for long range, high powered shots, and he vaguely noticed he was the first to open fire. A high pitched whine was the only sound his rifle made as it flung a tungsten dart over the barren ground at relativistic speeds. The dart slammed into an Ascendancy soldier, the kinetic energy knocking him back, but his shields held. But before he could recover, a second round cracked his shields. A final round blew his head apart.

Lyndon swept his rifle to the next target, which was considerably farther back. A veritable wall of tungsten darts and positron beams had erupted behind his first shot and mowed down the first few ranks of Ascendancy troops. But they pushed on, clambering over their own dead and crossing the empty, crater pitted field with alarming speed, propelled forwards by their armored exoskeletons.

The first armored vehicle came lumbering forward from the Ascendancy lines, but almost immediately the heavy positron emplacements behind Lyndon burnt it to ash. It was just the first of many, however.

The crush of soldiers came closer and closer. Lyndon decreased the power and upped the fire rate on his rifle as they did, until the darts flew from the muzzle in a continuous stream. They would break, he told himself. Fanatics or no, they would break, as they had a dozen times before. He just had to keep shooting.

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RCNS Indefatigable
Orbiting the jovian moon Cipeon
Agdemnar system

The harsh buzz of a priority comm request roused Maria Anisimovna from her sleep almost instantly, years of discipline and experience kicking her brain fully awake in seconds. She pressed the audio only acceptance key, blinking a few times to banish the fogginess from her eyes. “Anisimovna here,” she said crisply.

“Apologies for waking you Ma’am,” Aldona Giuseppe’s familiar voice said with rote formality. “Commodore Rekkavik requests your presence on Flag Bridge. He says FOB 737 reports Case Delta. He’s gone ahead and signaled all ships to spool FTL, and with your permission, will signal fleetwide battlestations.”

Anisimovna smothered a sigh. With all the times they’d been through this in the past year, she’d expect Rekkavik, her chief of staff, to know he could call fleetwide battlestations without her permission by now. At the very least, Giuseppe, as her chief adjutant, should’ve known to remind him of that, even if she was outside the chain of command.

But some formalities died hard. It wasn’t as if they’d lose any time; the fleet would need a good five minutes to spool FTL, and all her ships could go from general quarters to battlestations in under two minutes by now. That meant the thirty odd seconds her subordinates had wasted asking her permission didn’t actually matter. Still, she wished Rekkavik would display his usual initiative on this matter.

“Inform Commodore Rekkavik that he may indeed bring the fleet to battlestations. I’ll join him on Flag Bridge shortly,” Anisimovna said with appropriate formality, then cut the circuit. Alarm klaxons promptly blared throughout the ship, signalling the crew from general quarters (or combat-standby as it was sometimes called) to full battlestations. Anisimovna quickly slid into her skiv-suit and was out the door in seconds. Her quarters were conveniently located near flag bridge, meaning she was combat ready a scant thirty seconds after the signal to battlestations.

Flag bridge was frantically busy, but a civilian would never have thought so. Everything was done with flawless professionalism; there was no shouting, no scurrying aides, no great bustle, just officers and ratings looking intently at their displays, sharing and confirming information in crisp, calm voices, taking turns to slip away to don their skiv suits (less because of any sense of modesty and more to keep out of the way). Commodore Isodore Rekkavik and Captain Rammel Hildebrande were the only ones who stood when Anisimovna entered, and that was only so that they could join her at the base of the main holo-display. No one was going to waste time coming to attention while the ship was at battlestations, even for an Admiral.

Anisimovna looked up the display and frowned. Recon drones had just gotten into position, but there weren’t enough ships on the display. “Where are the rest of them?” she asked, her frown deepening. Hildebrande, as the ops officer, shook her head, her lips tight. “No sign of them. These Ascendancy ships warped in on the planetary limit just a few minutes ago and immediately commenced bombardment, before they even made it to orbit. They’ve settled in now, but we still can’t account for the rest of their ships.”
“Is it possible they’ve taken losses from someone else?” Rekkavik asked quietly. Not that he considered it likely, but good brainstorming meant discussing every possibility, no matter its likelihood.
Anisimovna shook her head. “There’s a good 40% fewer ships out there than last week’s engagement. Whoever’s in charge over there has amply demonstrated their competence every time we’ve engaged; I doubt they let someone else demolish 40% of their fleet in a week. No, the Ascendancy is up to something sneaky.” She absently noticed that the klaxon had stopped; the ship was fully combat ready at ninety four seconds, and Anisimovna made a note to congratulate Captain Faldiss on his crew’s superb response time.

“Well, are we going to try something sneaky in return, or keep things simple and play it safe?” Hildebrande tugged absently at one of her head-tails as she spoke, eyes combing the display and occasionally flicking up to the FTL countdown in one corner. Anisimovna crossed her arms and let her gaze sweep the flag bridge slowly. “I think just a dash of sneakiness is in order. We’ll go with ops plan Topolev.”

Anisimovna’s subordinates nodded, and all three of them returned to their sturdily constructed action stations as the FTL count wound its way down. Hildebrande quickly circulated the necessary orders to the fleet, and a number of small changes percolated their way out from Indefatigable to the rest of 8th fleet. Topolev was a comparatively minor variation on the standby ops plan, so the adjustments were made quickly.

In one great flash, 8th fleet disappeared. At least, most of it did. Seconds later, they reappeared slightly off the mark at the edge of Agdemnar’s FTL limit. A number of ships overshot the mark and were awkwardly yanked out of FTL by the planet’s gravity, the excess energy from their crash transits creating large blind spots in most sensor systems, if only for a few moments. It was an uncharacteristically sloppy maneuver, but far from disastrous. 8th fleet’s chosen angle of approach into the planet’s interdiction zone aimed to press the Ascendancy ships against the planet, cutting off their most expedient escape route. This necessitated holding fire until closer ranges, as the Commonwealth ships would likely end up hitting their own ground base with the imprecise fire available to them at extreme range.

It was a fairly obvious maneuver, but certainly an appropriate response given 8th fleet’s numerical superiority. Still anyone who was familiar with Admiral Maria Anisimovna might have been...puzzled by her rather straightforward approach.

8th fleet was well into the interdiction zone (though at a relatively sedate speed given the need to recover from their sub-optimal FTL navigation) when the trap was sprung. The missing Ascendancy ships flashed out of FTL behind 8th fleet, carefully angled relative to the planet such that they could open fire at maximum range without fear of hitting their own soldiers, scant kilometers from the Commonwealth FOB on the surface. The bombarding ships began to turn to face 8th fleet, slowly pulling away from the planet. The situation was looking grim for Anisimovna’s forces, though a long way from hopeless. Her ships began to come about on a least time course out of the interdiction zone, shifting formation to respond to the new threat environment. At the low velocity her ships had been forced to approach the planet with, the course change was implemented quickly, and 8th fleet began to pull away from Agdemnar at a somewhat unusual escape vector. The fleet’s formation began to shift into a tighter defensive configuration, maneuvering much more precisely than one might have expected after observing their sloppy FTL navigation.

And then the decoy drones finally burned through their power reserves. Fully half of Anisimovna’s heavy units and a scattering of her screening ships disappeared from sensors, evidently having never been there at all, the launch of the impostor drones covered by the energy spikes from those crash FTL transits.

The Ascendancy ships had almost 7 full seconds to wonder where 8th fleet’s main hitting power was before it burst out of FTL precisely on the edge of the interdiction zone, directly astern of the second Ascendancy force, axial weapons and positron cannons blazing. Withering fire tore into the surprised Ascendancy ships, even as the original component of 8th fleet adjusted its angle to present broadsides to both Ascendancy forces, all batteries at maximum defensive fire.

The Ascendancy ships did not panic, surprised though they may have been. Their commander was a good one, as Anisimovna had observed. The ambusher force turned to engage the second component of 8th fleet, while the bombardment force maneuvered to join them at the edge of the interdiction zone, all the while maintaining their fire on 8th fleet’s first component, forcing Anisimovna’s ships to stay on the defensive.

The Vit’azny admiral herself watched it all unfold from Indefatigable’s flag bridge. She was with the first component of her fleet, which was rapidly approaching a position where it would be able to merge with the rest of her heavy units. Those units were...not vulnerable, per se, but certainly less well protected than her original force. The steady rumble of railguns firing reverberated throughout Indefatigable’s hull, setting a rhythm for Anisimovna’s thoughts. Her separate forces would consolidate before the Ascendancy could do the same, but not soon enough to provide a decisive advantage. It looked like they were headed for another close quarters brawl, but she didn’t want to commit her strike craft just yet. The bombardment had ceased, so her objective was accomplished, but she had to push the Ascendancy away from the planet so they wouldn’t go right back to it while her back was turned. At the same time, she had to conserve her forces, because the ships with her were all she had for the foreseeable future. And then of course, there was the ever-present specter of all those other ‘expeditionary forces’ and ‘science missions’ and ‘rogue fleets’ faffing about all over the system, any number of whom might try to exploit the situation, perhaps by hunting down her logistics ships, or waiting until she’d weakened herself against the Ascendancy before striking at her fleet directly.

Of course, the Ascendancy had to consider all those factors too. In essence, the clash of their fleets had bloodied the waters, and it would only be a matter of time before the sharks came closing in.

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The Blue Hall of the Imperial Palace
Brandenburg Old Quarter
Praetoria

The Blue Hall was not especially blue, nor particularly hall-ish. It was an old, low building in the heart of the Imperial Palace grounds, built of native stone with surprisingly large windows, considering it had been built long before the days of climate control. Blue and gold had long been the colours of the Royal House of Romanov, so the name illustrated that it functioned as a personal space for the Royal person of the reigning monarch, in contrast to the Imperial throne room that resided in the Scarlet Gallery. It may have seemed an over-elaborate and utterly pointless set of distinctions to an outsider, but Praetoria was a world where the little things mattered a great deal.

It was late summer in Praetoria’s southern hemisphere, and the ancient city of Brandenburg was enjoying the heat while it could. Praetoria’s average global temperature was a touch on the cool side as far as habitable worlds went, and Brandenburg was a little closer to the southern pole than many might have wanted. It’s inland climate was prone to extremes; long, cold winters, and short, intensely hot summers. The former made the city’s populace absolutely delight in the latter, no matter how uncomfortably hot it might get.

The Blue Hall possessed a glass enshrouded sunroom specifically built with the summer heat in mind. Large french doors on the room’s three outer walls let a warm breeze come dancing through, playfully tossing the light curtains to and fro. An especially tall Yanissan man idly paced the room, while a young Vit’azny woman in a plain white dress reclined on a well cushioned wicker divan, watching the imagery coming from two portable holo-projectors placed on the low table before her. One displayed the chambers of the Low House on Corinthene, where Lord Chancellor Metternich had just finished delivering a very somber speech on the perils facing the Commonwealth. Catherine, the Imperial Queen (for it was indeed she on the divan), wished yet again that Metternich could have been on Praetoria with her, but she knew why that was impossible. The head of her nation’s government had grown to become a close friend and father figure, filling the void left by the madness and eventual suicide of Catherine’s predecessor and biological father.

She and Metternich had discussed at length what must be done today, and all was unfolding according to plan. On the holo, the camera switched focus to the Speaker of the Low House as he rose and called the chamber to a vote. Of course, Metternich’s Crown Centrist party and it’s Progressive Conservative ally controlled between them a working majority in the Low House, but today’s vote was not to be whipped or controlled in any way. Every member in the House was to vote their conscious, as they felt best represented their constituents. The vote was not at all necessary, since this was a foreign policy affair and strictly the purview of Her Imperial Majesty’s Government, not a legislative matter that needed to be put before the house. This vote was more in the nature of a PR campaign; after all, if the democratically elected government of the Commonwealth voted to withdraw from the Treaty of Detente, the Imperial Queen and her Lord Chancellor would be derelict in their duties to not do so.

The Speaker was saying something, but Catherine had reduced the audio to a whisper; the sound quality was quite poor anyways, a necessary sacrifice needed to broadcast the vote live-ish across the Commonwealth. The Ashtar’s old PsiNET arrays could do much, but they were still limited. Praetoria and Corinthene were close neighbors (in interstellar terms), so the delay was no more than a few minutes. Out in the verge, they wouldn’t be seeing what Catherine saw for hours to come.

The Speaker concluded his remarks, looking around the chamber solemnly. The camera changed focus to overlook the entire chamber, and Catherine found herself holding her breath, even though she effectively knew the outcome. Indeed, half the reason the vote was happening was to serve as a vent for the growing resentment of the Detente’s limitations that was spreading throughout the Commonwealth. But there was always a chance…

And then the delegates of the Low House stood as one. Not every one of them, of course, unanimity was a foreign concept to any elected house, but the standing representatives dominated the scene. She let out her breath in a deep sigh of satisfaction as the speaker began calling out the names of each standing member, one by one. Technically their vote wasn’t counted until their name had been called, and that might take a while, but changing one’s vote mid way through the counting was political suicide, so that overwhelming majority wasn’t going to change.

“Goodness, it seems you and the Lord Chancellor were over-cautious,” the Yanissan said with a faintly smug tone.
Catherine gave him an exasperated look. “Martuf, considering how often you’re proven right, you take entirely too much satisfaction in being so.”
“All part of my charm, your Imperial Majesty,” Martuf replied with a fleeting smile. “In all seriousness however, this only buys us a little more time. We all did what we had to in order to survive the post-war Troubles, but Telemachus may have pushed the nationalist button a little too hard. I’m not saying he was wrong to do it, especially with what we knew at the time, but the message rather changed things didn’t it?”
Catherine nodded. “Supremacy through unity”, she quoted the oft repeated slogan. “Well, supremacy hardly means sharing the keys to the galaxy does it.”

And that was the problem. The fervent nationalism that had kept the Commonwealth intact now demanded that it seize Agdemnar and the treasures of the Ashtar for itself. Catherine and Metternich had recognized that growing pressure, and set up today’s vote to accommodate it, but the overwhelming number of standing representatives on the holo showed that they’d almost left it too late.

Of course, precious few of those representatives even knew of what was being displayed on Catherine’s other holo. If they had, they would have been even more fervent in their support.

CSC Praetoria. The first Commonwealth Star Carrier. It’s alabaster hull glistened in the crystal clarity of vacuum, and it’s running lights twinkled like constellations. This imagery was not live; it had been delivered by courier ship in encrypted and physically secure storage, so the launch Catherine was seeing now was actually several days old. It was also Praetoria’s third time leaving her docking station out at Juno Station, but the previous occasions had been for engine tests and performance trials. Now, she was leaving it fully crewed and combat ready, and Catherine had felt it important that she see this moment, even if it wasn’t live.

Rumours of “hyper-dreadnoughts” had been circulating for years, rumors the Commonwealth had believed strongly enough to act on. To Catherine’s knowledge, Praetoria was the first of these ships to launch, and she would most certainly not be the last.

The Garden of Ages, they called it. Back in the ancient days of the "Republic" when the Queens established their new homeworld with the aid of the Ashtar, it was seen as a revolutionary idea, that one could grow, rather than build a skyscraper. Most government buildings were just that, buildings. Artificial constructs. But the Queens had agreed that a symbol was necessary. The Homeworld was gone. Its atmosphere was acid, its skies trapped heat like a planetary greenhouse. Only self-contained colonies maintained any living presence on its dry, dead surface- colonies that held convicts, religious fanatics, and scientific teams working to return the planet to the hands of the living. Their task was a failed one. Most studies indicated a concentrated terraforming effort would require centuries to return it to habitability. And even if it was undertaken, there was little to be gained from restoring a dead past.

There was no going back, only forward. And forward required significant planning and a mind to the future. A sustainability. A requirement that, in this modern era, one must live with nature rather than master it.

The Garden of Ages, they called it. When the seed was designed in a lab, its genetics manipulated to meet their needs. The bark engineered to resist lightning strikes and high winds. The interior branches hollowed out as it grew higher to create great chambers and space for offices. The roots went deep, anchoring it into the earth as proof against earthquakes. The sap acted as a fire suppression system. They still had to pipe in water mist to keep it cool in the summer- there was no amount of genetic know-how that could simulate air cooling.

And its upper branches water cooling branches were absolutely shit, Prime Speaker Vannifar thought as she leaned against the table jutting out of the Executive Branch. The view was to die for, looking down at the skyscrapers and neighborhoods of Landing going about their day, riding on transport beasts through the city, traveling from building to building on the Arachno-webbing networks. The bureaucracy of the Republic hard at work, living, loving, and longing for a better tomorrow. She could relate. But her tomorrow required that she crush more than a few dreams to make sure she lived to see it.

"Any new numbers from the polling offices," she asked, still leaning over the edge of the platform, watching as a train of Arachnites skittered along the webbing between the High Trade Center and the Industrial Management Department.

Arianas, her party's campaign chairwoman, paused from taking a drink and reached for a datapad "Nothing yet for the big locations. Internal numbers are solid ever since you secured the nomination. The base is motivated."

"I'm not worried about the base. They know to vote for me or the Nationalists will eat them alive." Vannifar decided she'd had enough of the view over the balcony, striding back toward the cabinet table- the one without a cabinet seated at it. Just her closest political confidant. "What about Manir? I can't win re-election without carrying the reconstruction colonies there. Any movement from them?"

"There is, but it's not good." Arianas only paused to finish her drink pulling up a spreadsheet on the tablet and sliding it toward Vannifar across the table. "I'm tracking significant headwinds on Manir for the Nationalists. Upwards of 60% of those surveyed say they feel the reconstruction efforts are too slow. And more than 70% say the occupiers should be contributing more."

"They can say what they want. Without the Ashtar to force them to the table, the other nations can tell us to eat shit and die. And we can't do anything about it."

"Not according to Zagara. She's proposing a blanket food blockade."

Vannifar nearly choked- and she wasn't drinking like Arianas. A blanket blockade? What she was proposing was nothing short of an artificial famine that could hit multiple nations, whole industrial planets. Millions dead if it was sustained. To say nothing of the military ramifications of multiple star nations coming to take the grain in the silos that they so badly needed.

"She's lost her brain. Her genes are completely scrambled."

"Maybe," Arianas said, tapping the table. "Or maybe she's tapping into something. We have a negligible presence on Agdemnar. The other powers are throwing artillery and air strikes and system strike forces at one another. We have an archaeological dig team. And what, one division to protect them while we dig up rocks?"

To protect the nesting grounds. There were some things even Arianas wasn't privy to. Most of it involving state secrets. She didn't need to know that the "dig site" was also sitting atop a massive cave network. One teeming with currently docile Arnolith Queens, laying eggs by the dozens every day while the security personnel were prepping the hatchlings. The only thing worse for a soldier in the trenches of Agdemnar was an attack from below, as Arnolith attack drones erupted from his feet.

The plan was weeks, months from even approaching viability. But politics wasn't always a game to be played by the patient. Vannifar needed action soon to hold on to the Speakership.

"Arianas. I need you to get a private courier ship. Prep the engine, I'll give you the coordinates. And get someone you trust absolutely but will not make the newsfeed if they go to foreign space. I'll need you to deliver something to someone very important. And it cannot fall into the hands of the public."

Arianas, seeing her Speaker's face taking on a more and more somber tone, nodded, rose from her seat, and activated her personal com unit.

"I'll make a few calls, see who's available, and get it done. What are we doing?"

Vannifar took a moment to sit in the Speaker's Chair, old, warped, but a living relic. Thirty-seven Prime Speakers had held it before her. Thirty-six women and one man, guiding the hands and hearts of the Republic's people. History recorded most of them as some form of sinner or saint. She didn't know if what she was about to write would put her in the first or second category. But she hoped it would save her from being dragged into the first unwillingly.

The thick, pungent smoke of a cigar writhed into the dim night. From the lonely window far above the cemented street, a cloud of similar shapes seemed to form. They trudded in a march through the fresh packed snow. Workers, hundreds of them, garbed in grey coats. Their faint silhouettes were clouded by the debris that fell from above. It was more than just snow. A grey ash filled the air and seemed to cling like a parasite to every surface and particle in sight. Waves of this ghostly filth whipped in the wind, lashing the workers as they marched below. Yet onward they trudged with armed guards at their sides. They were heading to the factory, the stifled glow on the horizon served as a poor replacement for a sky. On this planet, it was the only thing close to a sunrise.

Lyov took another great puff of his cigar, its fiery head treading close to his worn paw. He careened his head out to exhale once more into the billowing night sky. His giant white fur and ursine build were wedged sideways between the maw of the cement window; its architect not envisioning its use for such leisure. His rank afforded him some leeway. Lyov was a senior physicist in the Primacy. But in the Primacy there was no paradise for party members of any rank. His position did grant him a window, and he had every intention to make use of it.

A soft clicking noise droned in the background. The workers below seemed to walk to its cadence. However, with every gust of snow-laden wind, the metronome seemed to speed its incessant tick. The workers continued their slow trudge. With a long drag, Lyov burned his momentary escape down to its wick. The workers were close now. The searchlights of aircraft began to dance above their slumped figures. Lyov took this as his sign to retire.

He drew back into the small room. It was grey. Barren cement walls, a half eaten bowl of cold porridge, a scratchy sofa with chunks removed from it, and an old holoprojector on the wall. Lyov slid his giant figure onto the sofa and massaged what was likely an old injured shoulder. The little box perched on the seat continued to chirp. A geiger counter, its whispering dribble counted radiation in the air. It was a constant companion and only real conversation he had outside of the factory. The sofa he sat on had been refurbished by hand. Portions of padding that had absorbed too much radiation were torn out. He had tossed them out of the window, perhaps adding to the misery of the workers below. Perks of being on the top floor, and being worth something to Ozil Thermal.

The holoprojector cut on in a dash of flickering light. It had no on or off button that Lyov had seen. The device simply turned on when the party felt something worth showing, a rare event when work was to be done. Lyov immediately recognized the program, Galactic Talent. Perhaps it was a re-run but he could not be sure--all the performances were the same. At least all of the Ozil performances were the same. Song 1 was being performed. Though there were officially six state recognized songs, Song 1 was the only one exported for foriegn use. It was the theme, anthem, eulogy of the Ozil people. It was not real words, simply a complex and rolling howl that was meant to stir the emotions of every Ozil. It encapsulated their quest for self proving, mastering of the stars, struggle for survival in a forlorn universe, and ultimate destiny as dust in the cosmic sky. It was beautiful. Perhaps even beautiful to foreign ears. Moreover it was the only performance broadcast to the Ozil, a state-backed deal with the galactic entertainment network at large. Every performer, every broadcast, always Song 1 followed by a captured audience from around the galaxy and their thunderous--if after-tracked--applause.

Strobing light. Weeping judges. Theme music. Commercial break.

“Soda 1. The taste of Paradise to come," read a dashing Ozil with a smile and a wink. He held the colorful Jalaryian beverage like it had been vomited into his outstretched hand. It was crudely filmed, out of focus. In the periphery of the shot could be seen the edge of a mic boom and the vague silhouette of a rifle muzzle. He greeted the viewer at the end of every Song 1 performance, an advertising byproduct for the only beverage sold in the Primacy. It undoubtedly made an Alpha bureaucrat somewhere rich.

The screen cut back to Galactic Talent. Lyov looked on in awe. The crowd clapped lazily as the Ozil contestant trudged off of the stage. This had never happened on his screen before. The next contestant was announced. Lyov could hear the beat of his heart begin to punch through his throat. A human with an instrument took the stage. The applause of the crowd echoed in his room as Lyov’s gaze searched frantically for a power switch. There wasn’t one, there had never been a power switch. He shouldn’t be watching this. One of the judges cut a dry joke, looking presumptuously onward at the contestant. The human replied meekly, the crowd whispering about her looking unfit for the part. Lyov’s grip tightened, claws cutting through the patchwork sofa. The human began to sing, amazing the crowd with how someone so ugly could have such talent. Lyov was pounding. He grabbed for something, anything. The bowl of cold porridge crashed across the cement wall which played host to the holoprojection. Onward she performed, dancing amongst the clumps of gray sludge.

He didn’t even hear the door open. The footsteps had settled into the beat of his pounding heart and the steady, penetrating click of the geiger counter. They were here, and they knew.

Blackness fell over him. A plastic bag sealed itself over his head. Paws from every angle dug into his fur. Once. Twice. Three times something hard belted into the side of his head splitting his vision into a kaleidoscope of colors and pain. They were dragging him as the unsanctioned holocast droned on with voice and instruments and song. He felt his body crammed through the narrow opening of his own window. He felt the harness around him catch by some force, hoisting him upward into the bowels of an aircraft. The audience of the holocast erupted in gleeful applause. It sounded, for once, genuine.

Camp Kalando, Imperial Research Base
Agdemnar

Nestled against the energy field enveloping Point Jakurna, the scientists and engineers studiously go about researching the secrets of the Ashtar without a care for the fighting that enveloped the rest of Agdemnar. While the empire's position of neutrality and non-interference with other expeditions certainly helped allow them to do their work in peace, the massive and growing military garrison was the real reason. Every day, landing craft were delivering gun emplacements, shield generators, soldiers, and strike craft to ensure that anyone who dared attack the Taulron would regret it.

It was a splendid display of both imperial might and arrogance, a projection of official force where all too many of the great powers were hiding behind lies. No, the Taulron were brazenly working away at unlocking Agdemnar, and daring anyone to fire the first shot at them for doing so. So far, only various "rogue forces" had tested Kalando's defenses, and all had been repelled. A prestigious command for both military and academic officials, the research at Kalando was considered the core of Taulron efforts at Agdemnar.

This was wrong.

Shadowing every supply drop, every jump in system, was a small group of stealth corvettes. Slipping by in the wake of the openly declared fleet that made its run to Kalando, the flotilla of Cautious class vessels did not land anywhere near Point Jakurna. Hidden in an expanse of mountains on the far side of Agdemnar, the real focus of imperial concern grew.

For the young and impetuous Captain Heliak of His Imperial Majesty's Starship Nightshade, the daring flights to the mountain stronghold was a dream come true. Delivering soldiers and supplies for the empire's secret operations teams, ensuring that the research work of Kalando was never surpassed by anyone else's, that was real glory. But today she was not delivering nameless women and men to a base that did not exist. Today she was at Camp Kalando, her ship grounded beneath its energy fields, as the Commonwealth and the Ascendancy were busy killing each other.

"Gods, can they hurry up already?"

Strangers' Gallery
Parliament of the Sovereign Reich
Corinthene

The Taulron did not entreat the Commonwealth on Corinthene. No, the empire found it alien to speak with a parliament instead of their sovereign and so kept their embassies upon stately Praetoria. The appointment of the Merlovian diplomat Larthia Velansa was meant to be a sea change in Taulron-Commonwealth relations, first and foremost with him taking formal residence on Corinthene, but also because he was himself a Senator of the Empire's legislature. But as he sat at his first session of the Low House, he began to think that his arrogant predecessors had a point. Watching the Commonwealth tear up the Treaty of Detente before his eyes was enough to make even the staid ambassador consider abandoning this farce of democracy and decamp to Praetoria. The fact that this particular incident was occurring directly before his maiden speech to the House, that could only be seen as an insult. And a test.

By all accounts, Lord Chancellor Metternich was a most formidable man, and his opening salvo on the new ambassador proved it. This did not endear him to Ambassador Velansa in the least, but it did earn a grudging respect. The man was proving himself a bastard, but at least a crafty bastard. After watching the Parliament ensure that war going to come sooner rather than later, the man did the only thing he could do and got down to work. While stereotypes of Merlovians as obsessive planners with the emphasis on obsessive were overblown, even this declaration was not unexpected. Granted, the draft he had on hand was not intended to be his maiden speech, so some adjustments needed to be made, but he had tie. The Commonwealth adored its ceremonies, and the recognizance of an ambassador by Parliament was replete with them. A member of the governing party would give a speech introducing him to the chamber, and then a member of the opposition would give one questioning why he should be permitted to reside among them. Typically, these were maiden speeches for new members, and fresh orators luckily tended to drone on far longer than they ought to.

Which meant that when the Speaker called upon Larthia to defend himself, he had spent a little over an hour tinkering his address. The time it took for his full title to be announced - Senator Larthia Velansa, the Three-Hundred and Eighty-Sixth Duke of Caisrol, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from the Court of Trydosh in the name of Salos VI, Emperor of the Taulron - gave him the last few moments he needed to finalize the speech, and away he went.

"To all you members of this most ancient and revered House, greetings," the ambassador began, stretching back into the depths of the past to grasp upon forms and protocol that were centuries old when Taulros lived. It was an opening that got the immediate attention of all Vit'azny listeners, who were of course the true audience, indulgences to their sham of democracy or no.

"I admit, I am a stranger in this place. But not only am I a stranger to this Parliament, my Emperor is a stranger to the Commonwealth. For too long, be it during days of war, or days of peace, we have acted shamefully. We considered it an insult for our monarch to not speak directly with yours, a ploy designed to trap us in the mires of bureaucracy and committees. But it is we have slandered you, the members of this body, refusing to consider the power you hold."

"Today, the galaxy has seen the power of the Parliament. Though I am aggrieved that you now withdraw from a compact of brotherhood, all shall know that this was the act of a free people who shall ever refuse the bonds of slavery. But now it is my earnest hope that this same body will hold in warm esteem the ties of friendship, and the rewards of peace."

"I arrive to you today as a stranger. Let me be so bold as to hope that when I take my leave of you, it shall be as a friend."



King Larsos's State Apartments, Trydosh Palace
Kresslon Hill, Jharya
Yaratilsh

Emperor Salos VI, Victor of the Great War, was old. For nigh on a century he had reigned, born before the Peace of the Ashtar, he was one of the few surviving people in the Empire who remembered being Pushed. His father and grandfather had supplicated themselves to this new order, and he spent much of his long reign doing much the same, only to see them vanish early in his second century of life. It had fallen upon Salos and his contemporaries to make a new peace at Madrigasa, and while he had been criticized by all sides as every possible combination of warmonger, coward, and thief imaginable, he did help forge a peace.

Then the Message came, and for the second time all expectations were thrown out. He had spent almost all of his working hours since here, in the oldest wing of the oldest palace that the Emperors of the Taulron and their predecessors had resided in. Only here did the old Emperor feel young once more, surrounded by the reminders of true antiquity. It was in these ancient rooms that something new was being born. A notion of an empire whose legitimacy stemmed from the stability it provided, rather than the destruction it threatened. It was here that both Larthia Velansa and Jouyin Heliak were given their commissions as both war and peace were waged with equal fervor.

But for the moment, the Emperor merely sat in contemplation of a galactic map. Most were far from concerns. The Lokoid as well as the fractious humans and the corporate quasi-state they had founded were all a dull color on the display, deemed likely to remain neutral unless pressed into a corner. A shade brighter and more urgent were Rolvius, the Ozil, and the Valerius, all states that one had reason to be wary of, but for now unlikely to stage an invasion of Taulron territory. Next, in far starker relief, were the Commonwealth and the Uteqx, both Great Powers facing internal unease and unrest at the current state of affairs. It would not be beyond the pale for either to declare war upon the Taulron to quiet domestic unrest. But those lights were faint candles to the blazing suns of the Harmonic Conflux and the Alduur. The former were reviled by the Empire generally and Salos personally, their practice of slavery - and more importantly, their willingness to invade other states to enslave their populaces - were a blight upon the galaxy and a constant detractor from his new vision of an empire that stood by virtue of protecting its citizens. As far as the latter, the Alduur made little secret of their hatred for any who had collaborated with the Ashtar, and not only had the Taulron made an early policy of doing so, it directly led to their position of strength in the Great War. Finally, sitting on the ancient desk next to the holo emitter, was a physical map, and that object troubled him more than the rest of his worries put together. It was nearly two centuries old and displayed the realm of the Kobiot, a race that was not just now dead, but practically erased from history. Whatever terror had so thoroughly destroyed them no doubt lurked somewhere within the stars painted on that canvas.

Salos was old, but the Great Game does not stop.

--=Federal Quarter, Couerlene, Horizon, Tau Ceti.
In the Federal Council Chambers.

The Federal Council Chambers were nowhere near as busy as they could, or should of been - but it wasn't necessary for everyone to attend to the minutiae of the day to day affairs of state, that was after all why the Assembly existed. It was why information was distilled into succinct reports for everyone that had an interest. For once, however, there was a minor impediment to the agenda not to mention news came from places of unwelcome developments, but you could only summon so many ministers and secretaries so fast.

It was, however, politics, so Alanna Descoix, although only six months into her term as Chancellor of the Federation of Nations, had endured prattling about inconsequential matters for no small time in a valiant effort to get to some measure of the point. She found some small comfort in the fact that the chairs were obviously made for comfort.

She refocused her thoughts, keeping her brilliant green eyes on the new exchange between her Political Advisor, Mikhail Kalinkov, and the Minister of Defence, Theodore Fox. Both were part of the new political breed that had begun to come to the fore before the Message, like Alanna herself, they were both younger than she, however - though that held a different weight in an age of advanced medical sciences that made life expectancy far beyond what had been thought possible.

"The Vegan Faction always pushes for an extra 3% to the Federal Subsidies for Health & Education, if they didn't we would have a real problem." Mikhail said, shrugging.

"And yet here we are having the same discussion we did about it the last time they tried to amend it to a arms appropriation bill, They didn't get it last time - we cut a deal there, but if they don't get it this time I'm not sure it'll pass the Assembly ready for Referenda." Theodore responded, turning to Alanna.

"They have the power to block our agenda domestically, though of course Foreign Policy lies purely in the remit of ourselves for the most part." He added, addressing her directly.

"You don't have to remind me, Theo, I've had to rely on the Vegan's and their associates for nearly every important social reform so far. It's only fair we return the favour. Treasury?" She asked, turning to the functionary that was present in place of the Treasury Minister who was currently on Earth.

"You'll have final figures on your desk by the end of the afternoon, Chancellor, but to put it plainly, it is doable, if we slow down current spending on the Fringe Worlds to a like for like increase this year, there shouldn't be any major impediments to any other current spending plans." The functionary responded.

"We can sell the increase in subsidies as a minor change to the Fringe, not much of anything there that's too difficult, politically speaking, or media wise." Mikhail interceded.

Alanna nodded. "Very well, I'll make a final decision on that when I can take a look at the figures. Please add any pertinent information for the worlds effected - if we slow down too severely on projected growth in the Fringe who knows where that could end."

"Of course, Chancellor." The treasury functionary said, making notes on her holographic pad.

"Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, Anything Else?" Alanna asked, spreading her hands to the assorted functionaries, secretaries and ministers. Her focus turned to the Foreign Minister, Reinhard Adler, he was part of the old guard - but she had found him adaptable and importantly enough, adept at his work. This was even more important than ever, given the current galactic climate.

"Chancellor, firstly, we have received a communique from the Rolvian's, which has been transferred to your office as per protocol and is awaiting your personal response. In other matters, all reports from Intelligence and Diplomatic sources indicate that the Imperial Systems Commonwealth's parliament will vote to abrogate the Treaty of Detente. If they have not already done so." Reinhard said, matter of factly.

Alanna raised an eyebrow as Theodore spoke.

"It was to be expected. Half the galaxy doesn't pay attention to the spirit of it these days, let alone the letter." He said, leaving out the obvious that the Federation was complicit in being very carefully defiant of their obligations to that particular treaty. Though they had hardly been the first and definitely not the last.

"That is an.. accurate description, more or less. It may be that some powers react... poorly to no longer being constrained, though there is no immediate and direct threat to the Federation's borders as of this moment." Reinhard said, nodding as Theodore stated a simple "Agreed".

"It is of course incredibly likely that other powers will withdraw from the treaty completely and with haste." Reinhard continued. "I cannot say with certainty that any of them will view withdrawal as tantamount to a declaration of war, but I do not doubt that some will view it that way. However, Madam Chancellor, we do require a forthright and appropriate response." He finished.

Alanna waited for a moment, then spoke. "The Treaty has arguably kept meaningful peace reigning this long, but we all knew it would be fleeting. We all know the Federation agreed to it out of necessity, and I do agree it was necessary. Reinhard, once we have confirmation, please issue a.. restrained but appropriate diplomatic protest to unilateral abrogation of treaty obligations, for protocols sake. I doubt they'll even pay any notice to it, but of course have it mention that we will have to take action in accordance."

"You intend to withdraw from the Treaty?" Reinhard asked, though not in a way which indicated any form of shock, simply confirmation.

Alanna nodded. "It is a matter of foreign policy and it lies within the Councils remit to withdraw. We need not take it to the people. While I appreciate the irony given the Commonwealth's likely parliament vote, Given the scope of the treaty itself however I will submit it to Council Vote. Please issue a full and essential summons for that purpose, Mikhail, I trust you to see to that matter. However, only do so once you have confirmation from the Foreign Ministry of what the Commonwealth has done."

A nod from Mikhail was enough, and Reinhard nodded that he would of course make privy information as it was confirmed.

"Very well. Unless there is anything else, I believe I have some matters of my own to attend to. Ladies and Gentleman, The Council is dismissed."

----------
Office of the Chancellor.

The Office of the Chancellor was functional - in its own tower a small distance away from the main Assembly building, its offices served the Chancellor foremost amongst all things - and it needed not be an opulent place. The Office of the Chancellor itself changed from occupant to occupant, who brought their own things to make their mark and took their own things away again, in a even more literal handing over of the office.

So far, she had kept it simple. The only thing of any real value was the oak desk that she had paid more than enough for - not because Oak was rare in a traditional sense, it just never seemed to grow anywhere but Earth, which gave it a rarity of its own. It was not particularly old - having had many of the modern technological computational devices built into it that she needed in this office. She seated herself, her chair too was her own, having been brought from her study back on Terra Nova. Taking a moment, she spent a few seconds making sure her long red hair was still in place, and opened up state matters once more. The Rolvian Message took priority.



She took it in, and began to compose her response.



----------



--=FRCHS Hermione, Hospital Ship, Agdemnar System

The Hermione was the only official presence the Federation of Nations possessed in the Agdemnar System. It was notable in the sense that it was an "official" presence, unlike most. The Federation had not really reacted, or so it had seemed, to the Message. At the outbreak of "hostilities" in Agdemnar not long after, the Federation of Nations had very publicly and loudly stated its intent to provide humanitarian aid as per its want and remit, and had done just that, sent a hospital ship. Everyone likely thought it was a front for something else, but it submitted to infrequent "inspections" and now was mostly ignored by everyone unless they happened to have need of the re-purposed luxury liner's extensive and rather, actually, quite good medical facilities. Its Crew largely thought it was a miracle no-one had decided to just blow it up first, whilst a few thought that had even been the intent - to provide an official reason to place a military presence in the system.

That wasn't particularly true, but the loud noisy arrival of the ship - and its subsequent resupplies - had provided cover for a number of Pharos programme stealth ships to enter the system. For now they had watched, just in case. Whilst the Hermione was well shielded, it was largely defenceless. For the time being, at least, anyone who did make an attack run on the Hermione was likely in for a nasty surprise.

The Federation could afford to be patient for now. To Watch. Why waste lives when you can learn from the mistakes of others?

COVWAR THIRD RECONNAISSANCE UNIT
AGDEMNAR SYSTEM
1104 HOURS 08.16.3152
While its existence was officially acknowledged, no information about the mission and purpose of the Covert Warfare Development Group was ever released. The branch existed under the general umbrella of Special Operations Division, but answered directly to the Secretary of the Navy. Its tasks remain heavily classified and compartmentalized. The Third Reconnaissance Unit, a division of four Raider class destroyers and a Hunter series cruiser as lead, officially did not exist and even if it did, would not officially be anywhere near the Agdemnar system. The records of Third Recon’s deployment were kept under the highest classification available. Only SecNav, the rest of the joint chiefs, and the Empress’ advisement team had the requisite access. Only they were aware that a Hunter series cruiser was camping out in the rings of one of the gas giants, or that several destroyers were flying dark, whizzing around the inner system in freefall orbits and gathering data on the situation.

The primary report from Third Recon was overdue by three days. Transmission had been sent prior that both the command cruiser and two of the destroyers had been located and were being pursued. A second ciphered message was dispatched ten hours later reporting all ships safe and undetected. Ciphered messages sent from Agdemnar were very minimal, running over unsecure Ashtar PsiNet beacons until they reached the perimeter of Alduuri space where the Subspace Relay Network could handle the domestic routing. The transmission lag of a tight-beam subspace broadcast was over 9 hours to cross a third of the galaxy, and the act of transmitting would light up the ship to anyone with passive subspace sensors and half a brain all the way from the next star system.

“Captain!”
A buzz of activity wrested the bridge of the AMS Orion from its stupor. As the highest ranking officer in the entire star system, Captain Antonio Kennedy presided over Third Recon from the Orion. Being a veteran of COVWAR, the man was a patient yet ruthless commanding officer, and a master of efficiency. Third Recon needed every bit of that. He leaned imposingly over towards the ensign calling for him to see what the fuss was. “Yes sailor?”
“Multiple subspace disturbances in orbit near objective, bigger than I’ve seen before. Another engagement underway most likely.”
“Hmmm ... eyes on that would be useful.”

He stalked his way over to the main holotable, scrolling over to a system map. He had been taken aback by the vigilance of some of the hostiles’ sensor systems before, and it nearly got one of his destroyers pinned down and killed. He would not make that mistake again. Making a sublight reloc with any of his vessels was near guaranteed to have the ship sighted in by enemy scopes. Jumping in closer to a hostile battlespace, while making oneself a known target, was a recipe to lose a ship. That left options rather minimal.

There was a possibility, however. One of the destroyers was already on a passby trajectory. Firing its engines at more than one half G would light up an unmaskable drive plume, but there was an out for it. A sublight reloc after the flyby and a hard burn could bring the ship into the shadow of a gas giant, stabilize the orbit, and keep the course alteration hidden from any combatants in the inner system that might be tracking it.

“Comms, raise the Namani on tight-beam subspace.”
The comms officer set up the connection while Kennedy went over the orders in his head one last time. “Namani, adjust heading to match the flight plan as attached and go to one G burn. We need a flyby of the battlespace with all sensors active. Egress via sublight reloc to far side Agdenmar Four and course correct. Long range contact is possible. Defend or disengage at your discretion. How copy? Over.”
The talkback from the Namani came in promptly. “Solid copy Orion, coming about, going to one G burn. Wish us luck Captain.”
“Good luck Commander Vitani, and godspeed. Orion out.”

Captain Kennedy paced along the deck, nervously watching the flightpath of the Namani. “Contact the Himmenez and start beaming our data to them. I’m attaching a memo about the Namani and we’re sending the report out now.”
“Sir?”
“We can no longer operate with secrecy here. The deployment of the Namani is probably a mistake. We need backup or an escape plan,” Kennedy declared, turning his attention to the final draft of his report he dragged up on the table while the comms station did its work.

“AMS Himmenez, prepare to receive subspace tight-beam data transfer. How copy? Over.”
“Solid copy Orion. Please relay instructions.”
The captain accessed the channel now, packaging his report and notes and passing them into the transfer. “Himmenez, prep for sublight reloc to low solar and make the jump back towards Centaurus Cluster. Get within immediate range of SSRN, transmit all data to Navy Command, and await their orders.”
“Acknowledged Orion. We’ll see you soon.”

---

IMPERIAL CAPITOL COMPLEX
TIIR
0857 HOURS 08.17.3152
The risk of tardiness by the Empress could be readily gleaned from her walking pace. The present difficulty of her staff to keep up suggested that risk was rather high. One of the aids was carrying a stack of plex tablets in one arm, and an Imperial Navy jacket folded over the other. Others were trading various plex slates back and forth with the most powerful woman in the galactic sector. Several reports on varying intelligence topics changed hands while the ensemble headed into the military wing. The day’s schedule included meeting with the joint chiefs in preparation for armed forces deployment. The logistical back-and-forth of coordinating military strategy had been a nightmare ever since the message. For the first time since, almost every ranking member of Navy Command was here on Tiir, able to meet face to face.

It wasn’t that the empire did not have FTL communications channels -- there were specific channels of SSRN reserved for realtime military & government communications -- but that coordinating availability of individuals in different star systems was difficult on a good day. Comms lag only made it worse, as even tight-beam subspace relays were not instantaneous. With all the relevant faces in one room, weeks’ worth of planning could finally be accomplished within a few hours.

“Eighth Expeditionary is sitting comfortably at Centaurus Beta and was raised to elevated readiness this morning. Most of Third Recon is still lurking in-system but the AMS Himmenez is still waiting to return to them with orders to relay.”
Rose McDowell was one of Madame Lisett’s best advisors. She was a relative newcomer to interstellar politics but she was a go-getter. The four years spent so far with the Empress made up almost all of her political career.
The Empress asked the obvious question. “Is Admiral Cotyar here with us?”
“No Ma’am, he is on call through SSRN from Centaurus cluster. Transmission lag is 107 seconds one way.”
“Understood,” she miffed.
107 seconds was unfortunate, but was still pretty impressive considering that the Centaurus cluster was over three hundred lightyears from the core. “Anyone else of note missing?”
“No Ma’am, all other critical persons accounted for.”
“Thank you Rose, Harvy you got stuff for me on weapons development?”

Harvy Renault was a military cadet trying to also make his way in politics. The man had a knack for the careful blend of military rank and file and political maneuverings. He was also enthralled with military hardware. Were he not quite so green, he could have made an excellent candidate for Commander in Chief. However, Madame Lisett was not ready to hand over that authority just yet. She would bestow the rank when she found a worthy appointee. “Yes Ma’am, updates on all three majors when you’re ready.”
He handed off her navy dress jacket and a red-cased plex angrily stamped “CLASSIFIED from the stack. “The Gojira is undergoing flight trials and, all things being nominal, is scheduled for live fire testing this afternoon. She’ll be back in berth by tomorrow for final inspection & testing. The ship should be fit for combat deployment by the end of the week. Would you like me to organize a ceremony of any sort Ma’am?”
“Not this time thank you. How’s budget doing on the others?” All of the Gojira class dreadnoughts had been running over budget for the duration of construction, which was less than ideal for already-expensive warships.

“All of the ships are still about ten to twelve percent over budget, but are at least proceeding on schedule. The final report isn’t in yet but I have preliminary findings from SecNav about that for the Gojira. There doesn’t appear to be any mismanagement of resources so its looking like that’s just an incorrect initial estimate on ship cost. It's less than ideal but it could be worse.”
His attention to detail was impeccable. His own judgement was sometimes a bit questionable, but his diligence in reporting was never in any doubt. “I suppose that’s good to hear then. Now what about your favorite project you have such keen interest in?”
Madame Lisett was of course referring to the superfortress AMS Pulsar. Harvy obsessed over every detail of the design several times, and kept one eye on its construction near constantly. “AMS Pulsar is still behind schedule, but the extra resources tasked to it have boosted the speed above original plans. The construction is making up ground finally,” he gloated.
It had been his request to task more resources to the project when it was experiencing delays. “Unfortunately we’ve already missed the original launch date, but the ship should be ready for its first set of flight trials in ... six to eight weeks I’ll guess.”

“Noted,” she acknowledged curtly, “finish this after the strategy briefing, game faces on.”
Harvy had pretty well convinced the Empress about the importance of the superfortress project and so the delays were beginning to become an annoyance for her. That of course gave him leverage to pump even more resources into it. For now, that was back-burnered as the Empress and her entourage of support staff, the hallmark of any good Imperial politician, entered into the briefing room.

Per tradition, the capitol deputy on station would announce the entrance of certain ranking government and military individuals and the room was to rise and, if relevant, return a salute. Amara Lisett did not care too heavily for the formality of it all when attending to business. There was no need to reaffirm her position to those well aware of it. Nonetheless, the first thing she heard on entrance was the proclamation: “Ladies and gentlemen, the Empress of Alduur.”
Please, stay seated,” she preempted, “let us dispense with the pleasantries for today. We all know why we’re here so let’s get down to business. We have the intelligence report from Third Recon, therefore we need to plan our mobilization. Mr. Secretary, you have an operations report prepared for us?”
The Secretary of the Navy rose to return the address, “Yes Madame, I do.”
“Very good then, the room is yours.”

---

FIVE CROWNS PLAZA
TIIR
1728 HOURS 08.17.3152
“Go back to that part about ‘we have faced the unknown’. What if we redid that part to be about-”
“Madame it’s fine now will you ...” Rose was getting impatient with the pacing, “okay stop it!”
Madame Lisett gave a perplexed look to her advisor. Few people had the stones to physically get in her way about things. “Madame, the speech is great. Leave it be.”
“Rose this isn’t just another speech,” the nerves showing for once.
“I know, but you’re going to kill it. You never had a problem with that in the past four years. You won’t have one now.”
“This is the joint chiefs, the MPs, the core world magistrates ... literally everyone. And I’m about to ask an entire nation to follow me down the war path.”
The reality of it had evidently sunk in. Harvy, Rose, and the rest of her advising team had written an excellent speech for her, regardless. “Do you think this is the right move?”
Rose’s question was perhaps ill-advised. “I do,” Madame Lisett responded confidently in private, at least.
“Then we’re with you on it. Simple as that.”
“I appreciate your faith, Ms. McDowell. I just worry this will look like I’m trying to prove myself because I’m young and relatively new.”
“And are you?”
“Prove myself to my people? No. Prove ourselves as a nation to the rest of the galaxy? Yes.”
“Then we’ll run damage control on the optics if we need to,” Rose reassured, “now breathe ... and go write history.”

Madame Lisett took a long breath, Rose would not have let her go out without one, and made her way down the steps to the podium. The actual attendance, including all the dignitaries, was almost two thousand. More were watching on live broadcast. The turnout was impressive for something organized just the morning before. She stared out over the crowd. “We are ready,” she reminded herself, and began to speak.

I come before you at a singular moment in history. We have been confronted with unprecedented opportunity, and with that opportunity, the unknown. The unmistakable risk of rolling the dice, and reaping the consequences, for better or worse. But we have faced the unknown before. We have discovered wonders, faced terrors, spat in the very face of danger and dared refuse the advance of false gods. Though our courage, our vision, our faith in our purpose and one another, we have seen our way through even the darkest nights and I am here to tell you from my heart that we shall do so again.

The first step, that most necessary and fundamental beginning, is to recognize the revelations of our enemy not as a final act of defiance, but as a chance to learn. That, I must say with great shame, is the truth that others have turned away from. Given the same opportunity as we, the nations of the galaxy squabble behind denials and falsehoods, instead seeing power as a tool only for destruction, not peace. They look upon this great and terrible moment and they see it as an opportunity to revisit old wounds, to settle scores, to get one over on one another with no end in sight. They have lost sight of our shared history and so they must be reminded.

It is our duty, not as yet another belligerent nation but as the survivors of centuries of warfare ... to remind the galaxy who we are, to stand up and cry out in one voice, we will not bow! To be what we have always been: unbreakable. To come together with the strength we once held, and move forward into this brave new chapter of history!

---

^{If that speech sounds familiar to you, then you have good taste in sci-fi.}

SITE1 - CORE.
Unceasing echoes, growls of steel without reason or rhyme, permeat the emptied and occupied surfaces of the once-planet-turned-metal, created from nothing, as natural to it like gravity is to any other object of magnitude. The Othos had naught realized its purpose or intention, neither its origin. Fact is that it originated from nowhere, not from any microphone or sound output. It was a sound created from manipulations of air and wind, of natural qualities of the atmosphere and still not at the same time. It could be compared with magic in a sense, the arcane of psionic power, but it was neither true psionic influence that created it.

With each growl ground could shake, and the living could end. Within the core of this labyrinthine complex, this schackled steel leviathan, sound never ceased, but it is not sound, it is the power of anti-psions; a force unknown to the world; the inversion of psionic space.

But yet, what seems merely chaotic and destructive is not truly so. If one were to hold the keys of time and slowed it to such a crawl that motions ceased and the tiniest of movements would only be noticed after eons, reason and intention becomes clear as hundreds of instantaneous commands are made audible. Each growl, the result of endless computations and calculations, was a way for those beyond the grid to know its intentions. Or so it was supposed to be. It was quickly realized that what the grid thought was reasonable paces was impossible to comprehend by those beyond its influence. It adopted capabilities of speech still, in much similar nature, but lacking the same rapidness. Yet the growl maintained.

Suddenly, a radiance permeated the interior and exterior of the black sphere in the void; blinding lights caused by the completion of a calculation beyond understanding, and a command echoed from it like a screech into the rest of space much akin to that of its activation eons in the passing. Time had become unnecessary for this entity which spanned endless bodies and forms, which lived in countless places.

The screech traveled with a speed beyond nature, beyond light, and beyond the logic of most. It was a psionic echo, but not of natural nature, but of anti-psions. As it passed planets and realms lightyears beyond its influence, waves of unpleasantness was brought with it.

It did not cease, until suddenly it crossed the boundries of the legendary Agdemnar, its outskirts, and arrived at the doors of a black object just outside of the system influence in unwavering quietness.



The void-coloured obelisk whirred to life, its shape shifting in calculated slowness as its miniature sun maintained within was drained of its energy at increasing efficiency. Engines engaged, the 'ship' travelling with calm slowness against the waves of the cosmos. Pointed towards one destination contested by many, if not all within the galaxy. It did not care for the planet, however, but more about one precious item; a genetic code so invaluable to itself that it would be willing to wage war upon all if its masters had not lived in precious luxury provided by its protection.

Energy traveled within its circuits, the once rectangular figure having shifted into an aggressive, slick pyramid with a perhaps excessively pointy end. From it the energy within the object had been centered and flew out into the void with similar nature to that of the central computational matrix; the core, but lacking its comparable power.

Its engines ceased, the obelisk now drifting towards the battlefield-world, a message brought upon the system along with it.

It was a quantum-language transmitted by the force emitted by the obelisk, a language capable of comprehending intention and nature, capable of transmitting the same meaning across all languages at all times, being different words for perhaps all onlookers.

It was a transmission, capturable my communication systems, and it was a simple one:

"HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.[...]"

Govplex Arcology
City of Andalusia
Corinthene

Lord Sir Clement Herzog von Metternich, Duke Far Maddow, Knight Indomitus of the Order of King Nikolai, Lord Chancellor of Her Imperial Majesty’s Government, cursed viciously as a carelessly positioned cup of coffee teetered off the edge of his desk and fell to the floor. The luxuriously thick carpet was enough to save the fine china cup, but the liquid spilled across the floor.

“Spears and light be damned!” he growled, even as a small drone popped out of an inconspicuous hatch in the wall and whizzed over to the spreading pool of coffee. Metternich abruptly lashed out and kicked the thing across the room. The round little drone let out a distressed beep as it bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. It took a minute to right itself, then displayed a simplistic image of a face with a single tear coming from the eye, accompanied by a series of sad beeps. Metternich pointed at the patch of coffee insistently, but the drone stayed put, continuing to beep sadly. Finally, the Lord Chancellor of the Commonwealth sighed; “Sorry,” he said somewhat churlishly. It wasn’t the drone’s fault he’d so drastically underestimated the results of this week’s vote.

The drone considered him for a moment, then displayed a smiling face and made a series of beeps that somehow sounded very conciliatory. It returned to the coffee spill and guzzled the liquid up out of the hydrophobic fibers of the carpet, then returned to its hatch. Metternich watched it go, his mood improving slightly. The outburst of violence had helped, though the drone had successfully made him feel bad about kicking it. They weren’t smart enough to learn to do so on their own; some bureaucrat had ordered them programmed that way specifically to reduce incidents of violence against them. Certainly not out of sentimentality, but the guilt factor probably reduced the number of damaged or destroyed drones, which in turn likely reduced the Directorate’s annual cleaning expenses by a solid 0.001%.

The drones were one of the things Metternich liked about Corinthene. He was far more tolerant of the gleaming planet’s shiny-and-new disposition than many of his peers. Metternich had been born on Praetoria, his duchy was on Praetoria, and his legislative district was also on Praetoria, but he wasn’t as fixated on the homeworld’s ancient glory as some people. Corinthene represented what the Commonwealth was all about; diverse peoples building a brighter future together, under the gentle guiding hand of their betters. Oh it had its warts (and Metternich was fully prepared to admit there were some big ones), but ultimately the Commonwealth represented stability and security for its citizens.

A soft chime interrupted his contemplations on cleaning drones and national identity. “Come in,” he said absently. The doors to his office slid open soundlessly to admit his secretary, Franklin Deitricht. Metternich looked over and raised an eyebrow when he noticed Deitricht’s puzzled expression. “Something bothering you, Franklin?”

“Only slightly, sir. This just came in,” he said, offering Metternich a message chip. “It’s locked to your encryption key, and sealed under Prime Speaker Vannifar’s key.”
“And? I don’t see anything peculiar about that,” Metternich prompted.
“Sorry sir, but it didn’t come in over the network, and it wasn’t transmitted down by a normal diplomatic courier ship. Sir, this specific chip was hand delivered to me from a private Rolvian courier ship that entered orbit less than 20 minutes ago.”

That got Metternich’s attention. Low level diplomatic correspondence could have been encrypted and sent over the old Ashtar PsiNET, while more important correspondence was generally transmitted to and from the secure databanks of diplomatic courier ships. But to use a private courier, and not even use its databanks...Vannifar did not want ANYONE else seeing whatever was on this chip.

“Thank you Franklin, that will be all.” Metternich only had eyes for the chip, but his secretary gave a small bow and left the room. Metternich sat at his desk and popped the chip into his terminal. It was a simple text message, and as Metternich read, his famed temper rose to incandescent fury.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later

“She can’t do this!” Sir Cato Telemachus, Minister of the Interior, said plaintively. “Gods, the colonies are uppity enough even when they’re not starving!”

“She can and she will, and in the long run it’s better for us than if she lost her seat to someone who’d cut off the shipments permanently.” Metternich observed sagely. He’d popped down to the arcology’s executive gym and beaten several training droids into pieces before he summoned his cabinet. His preffered Neuchwanstein di gavi style of martial arts was heavily focused on striking, and his training regimens were deeply cathartic.

“Besides, the bumper shipments should last us through just fine. It’s an election, it doesn’t last forever. Even if it runs a little long we shouldn’t be looking at more than a few weeks of shortages. That’s not going to cause significant trouble...is it?” Celia Temkins, Minister of Planetary Environments, turned the statement into a question at the last second. Agriculture and food fell under her bailiwick, so she was well positioned to speak to actual logistics of the issue, but nobody in cabinet had a better understanding of colonial affairs than Telemachus, the man in charge of them.

“Well, probably not,” Telemachus admitted. “That timeline alone wouldn’t cause anything more than mid-level general unrest, but if any complications arose…well, that’s the thing; major problems tend to start from small sparks.”

“Could we...preempt some of that unrest?” Temkins asked delicately. She’d grown up on a colonial farm - as a citizen of course - and while she understood the necessity of the Civil Order Agency, she was one of the few in cabinet who’d seen them in action. She’d risen to great heights since her childhood, and Metternich was absolutely certain of her loyalty, but she did tend to get a little squeamish when discussing the realities of running the Commonwealth.

“You mean a Duquesne iteration?” Telemachus looked thoughtful for a minute, then shook his head. “No, it would be a rush job, and rush jobs are sloppy. A poorly executed Duquesne could hurt us worse than any food shortage. Certainly I keep tabs on likely candidates, but these things take a lot of groundwork, the kind that you can’t stop once it starts. All that to say I can’t pull one off for this.”

Duquesne iterations were an old standby trick of the Ministry of the Interior. Sometimes the best way to stop a rebellion was to start one of your own. That tended to start a wave of ‘legitimate’ rebellions, which could be dangerous, as the Troubles had proven. Then it was simply a matter of making your rebellion commit heinous atrocities, to justify bringing Civil Order in to hammer ALL of them. The key was timing; letting the ‘legitimate’ rebellions grow large enough to include as many troublemakers as possible, but not so large that Civil Order couldn’t contain them.Telemachus’ predecessor had almost ended the Commonwealth when he got the timing wrong during the Great War iteration, but Cato was notably more adept at the job, mostly because he understood his own limitations.

“I’m just throwing this out there: invasion.” Lord Sir Mathias Bosch, Minister of Defence, was an old warhorse whose constant suggestions of invasion had become something of an inside joke for Cabinet. There was a murmur of laughter around the table, and Bosch gave them all a quick grin. “In all seriousness, I know that has to have crossed some minds, or it will when the shortages kick in. I can ask Kyarguin to do a touch of wargaming, but off the top of my head it’s a hard no. I’m quite confident of our ability to seize the orbitals of any worlds we might choose, but I’m not nearly so optimistic about our success in surface invasions. By some accounts, the Rolvians have been playing around with their biological bag of tricks since the War, and I very much doubt any of us would care to play fetch with whatever may have come out of that.”

“And orbital strikes are out because we’d need the agricultural infrastructure intact.” Sir Robert Castlereagh added grimly. He may have been Minister of Foreign Affairs, but he’d been a naval officer before that, and understood the realities of such things. “I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer today, other than we’d best pick our battles carefully with the Rolvians, especially when we don’t know what the Taulron want out of us. And they most certainly do want something. I can’t understate the significance of Valensa being shipped here rather than Praetoria, so they’re buttering us up for something. Can’t yet say what, but I expect they’ll let us know before too long.”

Metternich nodded slowly, but put the Taulron question out of his mind for the moment. He would have liked to sag into his chair and rub his temples, but that wasn’t a suitable option with his full cabinet in attendance. He looked over Vannifar’s missive once more, the words no longer inspiring fury. “Could she be lying?” he speculated absently, looking around the table with an expression that suggested everyone consider the possibility.

Lady Captain Commander Shanessa, Minister of Commerce, rolled her shoulders in a slow shrug. “It’s possible, of course, but I don’t think likely. She has to know what this will cost her economy; even a temporary blockade will more or less force us to increase our food sovereignty, cutting into the Rolvian profits in the future. Certainly I can think of half a dozen plots and schemes off the top of my head that might give Vannifar reason to cut off food shipments and blame it on political opponents, but none of them are really worth the risk. She’s fully aware of how...strident our response to such deception might be.”

Bosch barked a laugh. “You mean we’d roll right over her navy and torch every one of her bread-basket planets without ever landing a single soldier.” He raised a hand when it looked like Shanessa was about to give a pithy response. “I know, I know, it wouldn’t be that easy. And of course there might be other forces at play that we know nothing about. But as a general rule, it’s a bad idea to let fear of the unknown paralyze oneself into total inaction. Really I’m just agreeing with you that the situation as we know it means that Vannifar almost certainly is telling the truth.”

The table fell silent for a moment, until Metternich pushed his chair back and rose. “Very well. I think we’ve tossed this problem around enough, and with all things considered, Vannifar’s already outlined our best course of action: buy all the food we can, then brace for shortages. Celia, I’ll want some recommendations on rationing strategies, but this has to be kept quiet, so make sure your analysts are convinced it’s hypothetical. Cato, please put together a report on likely hotspots once the shipments stop. Again, this has to be kept quiet, so keep your team small. I’ll put together a response to Vannifar and pass it to Ambassador Tovin, then I’d best get started on my briefing to Her Imperial Majesty, I’d like to get it out on the evening courier. Anything else I should include?” Metternich looked around the table, but saw only shaking heads. “Right, well you all have until 18:30 local if you want to send anything in writing, or speak to the Imperial Queen yourselves in a few weeks time when Parliament migrates. Good day to you all.”

Prince Nautilian could not stop looking at the massive shield, standing proudly in the distance. It pained him that he was forced to stay so far away. Other, less reputable, factions had taken up residence around the Shield. Probably making their desperate attempts to breach it. “You’re sure of it?” He asked his lead scientist, who stood behind them. “Yes sir. The shield is impenetrable through conventional means. It shares the same radiation spectrum with Ashtar shield data we found in the archives.” Nautilian turned and marched towards the large, wooden table. A luxury imported from Asra itself. It wasn’t the only luxury found in the Asrian’s camp.

Nautilian could only chuckle as he realized that some poor conscripts had to camp around the shield, sleeping on a tough mattress at best. Not here. Thrall Commanders and several Orders had raised make-shift housing with climate control. The food, while not of the highest standards of the Royal Palace, was still locally prepared and served. Such opulence in a time of shadowy war could only be maintained if more than 90% of the forces didn’t eat at all. Luckily for the Asrians, that was exactly the case.

“High Commander Urson.” Nautilian slammed his fist against his breastplate and gave the commander a small bow. The High Commander followed suit, though his bow was far deeper. “Report.”

“I have ten artillery commanders setting up their forces on the perimeter.” He began. The center of the table lit up in a hologram, showing the mountain the Asrian outpost had occupied. Strange, quadrupeds carrying a large cannon-like structure on their back either stood at attention or slowly lumbered towards their designated location. “Furthermore, five more commanders are scouting out the terrain.” With his mind he bid the hologram to focus on a group of four hound-like Thralls running down the mountainside. One of many squads. “Our location should be safeguarded by nightfall. Furthermore, we did not detect any troop mobilization against us as of yet. We’re presuming that they do not consider us large enough a threat, as we took camp further away from the Shield.” Two other commanders, part of Urson’s staff, nodded in agreement.

It was only obvious that they wouldn’t. He was on Adgemnar on purely scientific reasons. A noble reason most factions at the very least begrudgingly accepted. Nautilian gave him a respectful nod and then turned to his scientist team. “Do you have anything more?”

“Well, sir. As I said, the radiation is very alike. However, the shield appears much stronger than it should be. You see, Alpha particles are well within normal levels. Beta levels seem to be somewhat higher than normal. Theta lower but Psi-levels seem very consistent with what we’ve seen before. We believe that the Ashtar are powering this through an advanced generator of theirs. Though the exact nature of their power generation still is unknown to us. Seismometers suggest that the shield also blocks any entry underground. It’s really interesting because this makes region within the shield bubble almost entirely sealed off from the outside atmosphere. We do wonder if it lets light through. That could lead to-“

“Stop.” An increasingly impatient Nautilian commanded. “Do you have a way to get through?”

“N-No sir.” The lead scientist stammered. “In fact, I don’t think we can ever get through. The shield is so strong, we might not be able to develop the technology to pierce it for another three hundred years.”

Nautilian slammed his fist against the table. “Are you telling me that we have absolutely nothing against it!?”

The lead scientist did not want to answer. However, a scientist behind him did step forward and spoke up: “My Prince.” He voice was far less fearful than that of the lead scientist. “There might be a way. We’ve been looking at it wrong.”

“Be quiet!” the lead scientist sneered.

But Nautilian silenced him with just a motion of his hand. “Continue.”

“If you would indulge my analogy: the shield is a door. We and every other faction on this planet has tried to kick it down. But it’s a door with a lock. So it has a key. Sir, I believe the solution to our problem won’t be found on Adgemnar. We will find on Manir.”

A crippling silence fell over the meeting. Manir had become the downfall of the Darkstars. “Are you telling me the key to all of this is on Manir?” The very name conjured disgust in his mouth. Manir, a place where the Asrians were almost at their vilest.

“No sir.” The scientist said, still unafraid. “I think that on Manir there is a lock like this but open. If we have an open lock, we might fashion a key from it.”

Another voice instantly chimed in. “My Prince.” It was Admiral Volanus. “I can dispatch a Darkstar fleet to retake Manir. We will bring you this key.” It was spoken like a true Admiral. Volanus might not have fought in the Great War but everyone knew his ancestors had. It were, sadly enough, also his ancestors that had nearly doomed the Asrian Ascendancy and brought great shame through their genocide. Now he wanted to right the wrong through the only way he knew: conquest.

Nautilian never liked the Admiralty. It was too traditional and conservative. Never the less, it was an enticing offer. A Darkstar fleet would no doubt be able to conquer Manir once more. They were built for it. It was an easy, practical solution. “No.” He said. “We will not invade Manir again. Contact my sister.”

Lady Olliana was one of the few Royals to enter the Admiralty. Unlike her brother she thoroughly enjoyed their traditionalist values of power and strength. Her own psionic abilities had far overtaken that of her brother. Even now she was using her innate telekinetic power to puzzle together something that looks like a shattered rubric cube. Yet not all cubes would fit. Some had magnets that attracted and repelled. It was a game of guessing for the foolish and memory for the wise. Or so Olliana liked to think. From the throne of her Eternity-Class Battleship, she tried to spot Adgemnar to no avail. She could barely see the star. Instead, she and her fleet were hiding in the radiation of a nearby gas giant.

“Sister. I have a task for you.” Chimed through her bridge.

To be sent off to the Republic of Rolvius, that felt like a bad joke. To make her a diplomate to broker a deal with them? That was madness. She was a fighter. A warrior. She even had her own Coven. Even her father said she was born for war. He said it solemnly but Olliana had taken it with pride. It had driven her as a little girl and now she was sent of as a bootlicker? She couldn’t deny her brother’s demand though. Still, she would not go ask one of those meek, gift-bearing, desperate to please bureaucrats. Instead, she split off her main fleet with her Legacy and two Destiny-Class Battleships in tow. Accompanied by a Ziggurat and a Spire-Class Battlecruiser. Her navigators were going through all the formalities of FTL and activated the diplomatic broadcast codes on her ship. Then she was off, racing towards Rolvius where she would make her demands.

Agdemnar, High orbit
Moments before the fleet engagement
Aboard the Battlecruiser Divine Clarity
Admiral Wallace Garza waited with anticipation as his fleet bombarded the surface, much to his dismay. Agdemnar has been deemed as the Holy Land, the gateway to eternal Paradise and Ascension, and now its hallowed ground has been soiled by the blood of heathens and the faithful alike. Nevertheless, sacrifices are to be made if the Ascendancy's goal is to be achieved, even if the Holy Land itself is scarred in the process. He simply prayed that his plan would come together, although reports on the surface paint a rather grim picture of the ground forces situation. He looked to one of his Comm Officers. "Contact Knight Commander Kiram." Garza spoke with a A gravely, elderly voice. "Have him pull his troops back and be put on standby. They won't survive long without our support." The Officer nodded in compliance and went to work sending the transmission. The battle on the surface would be put to a temporary halt, for now that is. Without the air cover provided by the fleet, it would be a total massacre then it already was.

"Admiral, Enemy ships within range." One the bridge staff called out. Garza grinned, they took the bait as he hoped they would. "Have the rest of the fleet jump in, we'll corner them like rats." In that instant, the remainder of the Crusader Fleet flashed behind the Commonwealth vessels. "All ships advance towards the enemy's position.”Garza ordered as the two halves of his fleet made their move, slowly boxing in the 8th Fleet, or so it seemed. Flanking the Admiral to his right was his second-in-command, Captain Selena Hanu. "We've may have just caught them by surprise, sir." Captain Selena Hanu spoke with an air of confidence to her tone, assuring herself of her Admiral's plan. The admiral simply nodded with a small grunt in response, his gaze ever so focused on the holo-projection in the center of the command bridge, a cluster of red dots representing the 8th fleet, and two pairs of green representing the Crusader Fleet. "On my command, all ships-" Before he could even give the order, half of the red dots vanished right before his eyes, causing a very brief moment of confusion and to a small extent, panic.

Before Garza could even properly react to what just occurred, the enemy fleet reappeared once more, initiating their own deceptive plan as the remainder of their fleet was moved towards the second battlegroup, poised to attack. "This little maneuver may alter the battle, sir...” Selena said. Garza grunted with confidence. “We can salvage this.” Garza replied, soon followed by violent tremors as the 8th fleet begun their counterattack. “All ships! Return fire! Blow these heathens to stardust!” In the short term chaos, ships in both groups begun to oriante themselves towards the 8th fleet, all the while under repeated fire and eventually responded in kind, lobbing shells, energy bursts and torpedoes at their adversaries, losing a few smaller ships in the hailstorm. Eventually swarms of strike craft emerged from the underbelly of the Divine Clarity, consisting of both older and newer generation craft, providing cover for the fleet and bracing for the inevitable dog fight to ensue.

737th Battalion Forward Operating Base
Agdemnar

"Push onward brothers and sisters!" Knight Commander Loris Kiram cried out, brandishing his sword before pointing it towards the heavily fortified commonwealth position. "Ashtas Vult! Crush these heathens!" His cries however, were drowned out in a hailstorm of gunfire and the anguished screams of his siblings-in-arms as they fell one by one in rapid succession. Not too long after, more armored vehicles followed behind, many incinerated by Commonwealth Gun Emplacements, but like the infantry, kept moving forward in the hopes that their numbers would prove overwhelming enough and that enough of them would survive the charge to render the enemy's defensive position moot. Despite this, his own forces made to score their own kills as more vehicles joined the fray, tank shells sending armored commonwealth troopers flying. "Onward!" He shouted, charging with a squad of fellow knights as they neared the trenches. However, Loris' "victorious" charge would have to wait. Several loud beeps sounding off in his comm-device, the knights turned to face their commander, no words needed to be said, each nodded to each other as the armored knights formed a protective circle around their Commander. "This is the Divine Clarity to surface commanders." the Comms Officer spoke. "The Admiral has ordered all forces to pull back immediately, Orbital support is going dark, I repeat, going dark."

Loris developed a soured expression. "Godsdamn it!" He cursed. He was so so close, his moment of triumph was within his grasp, only to be snatched away once more...but his time will come. He and the rest of his chapter-brothers can soon walk the hallowed halls of the Ascendant Palace and be celebrated and praised by the people as Saviors of the Holy Land and to gain he favor of the Messiah herself. That time, will have to wait, but it will come, that he promises. With much hesitation, Loris gave the order. "All troops pull back! Pull back immediately!"

THE OBELISK DRIFTS, AGDEMNAR-SYSTEM -

It had traveled far, certainly. But the cosmos was vast, and what is far is truly no distance at all. But information travels faster than any material possibly could, and farther than any engine could fathom. The cosmos was reflected against the surface of the sharpened pyramid, drifting across the vacuous oceans inbetween stars and worlds, a million stars and a million realms painted across the hull of the ancient starship.

It had journeyed far, and journeyed for long. Who could know how many years it had been since it had first slumbered, and how many years had passed since it had woken up again. The WARGRID had commanded its first external action for the first time in centuries, and things must either be stabilized or dangers uninterpretable had made their presences known. Only time itself could tell which reality was true, but the WARGRID has simulated a million realities for either circumstance. Ultimately though, the only reality that matters is this one, and none other.

The purpose for its slow drifting journey towards Agdemnar was for surveillance and information gather. Its message had not yet been heeded, or at least responded to, and as such it had little to work on when establishing its predicted descent path. That was, of course, until a communication was laid bare before it, and its contents were presented:

"This is the Divine Clarity to surface commanders. The Admiral has ordered all forces to pull back immediately, Orbital support is going dark, I repeat, going dark;"

DEMAND - RED; ANALYZE LINGUISTIC CONSTRUCT.
DEMAND - RED; ANALYZE VOCAL LINGUISTICS.
GRID; RESPONSE; "LINGUISTIC CONSTRUCT - ANALYZED."
DEMAND - RED; PREDICT LINGUISTIC LOGIC (REALITY ENGINE).
GRID; RESPONSE; "VOCAL LINGUISTICS - ANALYZED."
REALITY ENGINE; LINGUISTIC LOGIC; "PREDICTION ACCURACY: 77%."
DEMAND - RED; PREDICT VOCAL LOGIC (REALITY ENGINE).
WARGRID; "INSUFFICIENT PROCESS (LINGUISTIC LOGIC)."
REALITY ENGINE; VOCAL LOGIC; "PREDICTION ACCURACY 97%."
REALITY ENGINE; LINGUISTIC LOGIC; "PREDICTION ACCURACY 85%."
WARGRID; "SUFFICIENT PROCESS (VOCAL LOGIC)."
WARGRID; "INSUFFICIENT PROCESS (LINGUISTIC LOGIC)."
REALITY ENGINE; LINGUISTIC LOGIC; "PREDICTION ACCURACY 99%."
WARGRID; "SUFFICIENT PROCESS (LINGUISTIC LOGIC)."

Within the passage of instants, a million calculations had been made, and a hundred-thousand possibilities had been sorted through and eliminated. As a result, what seems like perfect linguistic comprehension is established, but few will ever realize that the passage of time between existences of two seperate magnitudes is beyond cosmic in differentiation.

Nevertheless, a signal had been recieved, and a signal is only courteous to reply to signify the descent and landing location of this ancient vessel whose mission is soon-to-be concluded. As the engines reignited and the obelisk drifted ever more rapid through the void, its descent parameter going further and further from spiral to line as the tip pointed straight towards the much contested planet.

From its apex, the tip of the oblong pyramid, was radiated an encrypted signal with multilayered quantum-encription; its activation lacking key, but instead programmed through distance.

As the signal travelled through space faster than light itself, jumping in and out of the quantum reality hidden and inaccessable deep beneath the material universe, it suddenly surfaced within the communications network of one particular vessel with a most peculiar content.

The signal hyjacked the communications terminal momentarily, percievable only to the common eye as lag, when suddenly it blared open in the tongue of the very communications officer who held responsibility over the terminal: "This is the Divine CLARITY to surface COMMANDERS. Evacuate the following region: 001787, 118982 - 12,741.88 meters in diameter. Contact signal §9%62??§¤|;;§ [...(incomprehensible string of numbers)]." The voice maintained an uncertain monotony, lifelessness, but still certain clarity. It was unrelenting, however, as it perfectly pronounced every syllible and number, voiced every single string and symbol in the unending signal contact.

Thankfully for some, however, should one prefer the senseful quietness, the contact had already been registered in the communications network, named 'Divine Darkgoing.'

---

WITHIN THE NETWORK -

There is no time, no space, nor any presence. Existence itself, within the vastness, is both endless and finite; its reach infinite yet limited, its limbs unnumbered yet not enough. To be one within the network, a vastness of information denser than imaginable, traversing beyond material realities and going from one entity to another under the manipulation of a central consciousness that stretches across all, that dictates all, and knows everything. We are everyone, our overlord is us, and yet, we are us too. There is warmth in the communion, yet there is cold, for the warmth is false, and the coldness is simulated.

He was in the process of being formed, his consciousness created from merely a few thoughts from the central overlord, the WARGRID, yet in that instant, he was once one with the network, yet severed from it; an entity created, a consciousness formed, yet it was no true consciousness.



THE DRIFTING OBELISK, AGDEMNAR-SYSTEM -

As eyes made of steel and gadgets glittered into life, the blackness of the perfectly rectangular vacuous expanse before him irradiated by the luminous residue from his own gaze; coloured by the redness of stellar dwarves. His thoughts were rendered his own, and accumpanied with it was the strangeness of independent thinking much alike the alienation of being born for the first time in life. With thoughts of electric currents, he formed his percieved independence further as he wondered where he was. His gaze darting across the featureless room.

As his eyes landed on his own form, across the metallic limbs, carbon muscles, pistons, and circuitry, he noticed that he was being held in place, unmoving save for his head, by powerful anchors and locks. Naturally, it was with somewhat great surprise, when he fell to the ground as the locks were released and the anchors loosened; fading into the wall and ground, and leaving him alone within the abyssal room. His first instinctual movement was to stand, and gaze at the wall ahead of him; yet he could not help but feel a strangeness within his own mind, as if his own thoughts were being reconstructed and organized to suit some form of greater convenience.

"IDENTIFY YOURSELF," words spoken, but not from himself, as the wall before him suddenly glowed with life as the circuitry within pulsated with uncertain energies and unsure intentions. It was cold in its approach, and domineering in its intentions, lacking many features of which he, himself, had within his nature. Yet it felt natural to entertain this lifeless presence, and as his confusion turned to clarity, and his thoughts turned to actions, this newly-born spoke its first words with ease and grace, his arms and body accompanying them with gestures and waves.

"Ambassador One, Aone, as I prefer to call myself; in service to the Othos." A grandiose display for sure, as Aone took a formal bow before the fluctuating energies embedded within the wall some 50 meters before him. It was no great distance, mainly because he was quite tall by common standard. He soon lifted his head, and stood straight once more, almost locking into stances as the internal machinery halted its rotations and movements, the only thing in motion within him being the flow of energies from one module to the other, simulating a life he had never had, yet had suddenly become his own.

"IDENTIFY CORE CONCEPTS; IDENTITY CORE."

The Creator desired to investigate his creation, to see if it had malfunctioned in the process, or whatever else it wished to inspect. The omnipresence of the overlord, the omniscience of its domain, was perfect. But somethings demanded extensive investigation; some things can only be learned in practice, no statistic or simulation can account for factuality. Therefore, suddenly, Aone's entire conscious was demolished, its components simplified, and his independence shattered as his personality became that of a puppet, lacking personal gimmicks and quirks, no fanciful language or superfluously kind demeaneurs. His voice became monotonous, a carbon copy of the wall before him, the only difference being a programmed semi-independence, a percieved consciousness, and a defined identity. "KOBIOT IDENTITY, MODEL ZETA. SCHOLAR, MODEL ZETA. KOBIOT TRADITIONALIST, VARIANT WARRIOR ZETA. OVERALL IDENTITY MODEL Z79O12," the response was done in kind, familiar to the wall. Familiar to himself, as his consciousness was returned, and his sense of self was released from its locks.

"DEMONSTRATE YOURSELF; INITIATE SCENARIO 97117, CATEGORY: VOCAL."

The black walls, ceiling, and floor suddenly shifted colour, and a vast landscape was portrayed upon them. Barren, grey wastes, but yet the most beautiful visage Aone had ever seen. Blue skies, unending landscapes, and distant peaks; shifting clouds, rainy climate, and pooling waters. His admiration, however, was interrupted as a fisure in the simulation appeared before him, a gap in space, or what seemed like space, as the wall returned yet again before him, yet it seemed quite different... He felt quite different. He felt like something was to be done, a task needed to be fulfilled, and as his intentions to speak and proceed bloomed from within, he was once again interrupted by the pulsating wall, its energies shifting the stagnant air around him, turning dust into speech and air into sound.

WITHIN THE SIMULATION -

"Quite beautiful, is it not?" The wall motioned with his speech, the accentuation standing substitute for the physical action of pointing towards one's intended object of discussion. Aone felt familiar with the wall, he felt like he had been its companion for centuries, if not millennia. He felt nostalgic before the greyness, and felt a looming sadness beneath his thoughts. "Beautiful, yes. But once it had been more beautiful, more prestine," he retorted. He did not have a mouth with which to speak, nor a throat with which to feel the clump within it, but even so, he felt betrayed by the world for what it had done!

But, well, for as sad as he was, what was he sad for? What had the world done? It was his enemy, that much was for certain, but why? With each step of the conversation, he felt himself expand, not in physical size but in identity. Right now, he was someone. He did not know who he was, nor did he know why he was. Naturally then, that the wall would offer him solace yet: "The past may have been bright, and even if what is now is dark, it does not mean that what will be cannot be brighter yet."

Aone knew those words! The wall had always been a stickler for the literary, especially the old works from eons in the past; J'koro-oro. "He was a wise one, that J'koro. One text made for each day in the year, another book made with each rotation of the moons; a workaholic without comparison, heh."

"I only quoted him because I know you always admired his work, Aone."

With a hearty chuckle Aone waved dismissively at the wall, his glowing pulsating energies as monotonously perfect in its displacement and coursing currents as it had always been. Indeed, the only one who was not like the rest was him, he was alone yet the friend of everyone. "Yeah, well, 'to stand with others is to stand with oneself a thousand fold,' I only do what I can for the Masters."

THE MASTERS. MASTERS. MASTER, MASTERS. Who were they, the masters? Why, the masters are the masters, of course. You are subservient to the master, the masters. Serve the master(s) with all your presence-power, serve. SERVE.

"Good," the wall coyly responded, nonchalant as the wave Aone had previously presented, yet it felt heartfelt, and Aone felt drawn to its kindness. What seems cold may be warm, and what is warm is indeed warm. "Well, I just hope that this planet won't be ruined again. Would be a shame-"

Piercing images of world-shattering munitions, cannons fired unceasingly, and thermobaric explosions flashed before his mind as the voices of a million warriors surged past his ears in moments, the slaughtering of billions, the crumbling of monuments and the sundering of towering feats of engineering worthy of nothing if not praise; shattered. His mind was merged with another, his reality blended with colours of the opposite complexions.

"Worlds shall shatter if they must, doom upon the masters shall be met with doom equalled a thousand-fold." He spoke, his previous reply erased from his consciousness. Of course peace was desired, but the safety of the masters is paramount, the servicing of the masters is paramount. "Wall, you know me, I am an ambassador of high esteem, and a warrior of great merit: I do my utmost to maintain peace, but peace is not a reality that can be achieved through merely my own labour; through the labour of all the servants of the masters."

"Indeed, the war that sundered continents, and erased seas across the realms of untold worlds, were not of our making Aone: the Kobiots taught us much, most of all that others cannot be trusted." The wall spoke, its tenderness changed with stern militarism and an aged wisdom acquired only through the experiencing of a thousand wars and a million battles. "Aone, you are my first disciple. You have learned the arts of the Kobiots. But remember, you are an ambassador, and you shall engage in diplomacy before all. I shall grant you with but one weapon; the Jöjomonkot."

Aone's brow shifted, if he would have had one, and uncertainty filled his thoughts. The Jöjomonkot is a weapon of traditional Kobiot descendance; the first weapon, as the name translates to. A staff of particular nature, having evolved over the time to be both warstaff and greatsword. A strange creation only the Kobiots could've fashioned, but a weapon with a triumphant history nonetheless. It was a powerful one, but it was not sound for modern war; how could a staff used for duels amongst the Kobiot upper hierarchy be useful against mass drivers and energy projectors.

Before he could voice his doubts, his benefactor had already responded: "Aone, you are not a warrior like those of your ilk who are; you are a new breed of warrior, one who uses ceremony and words; an ambassador and diplomat, to defeat your foes and enforce your will."

"Of course," Aone spoke, "the Jöjomonkot is to display my power to gain diplomatic leverage and gravitas, and my words are to fashion alliances to benefit the masters and deals to further our ability to serve." The Wall nodded, if it could nod, as it silently dominated the environment around it, the vast landscapes...



The planet, the world, was instantly turned dark, and the wall went equally abyssal as where once had been the rays of the sun were now filled with nothing but silence and the absence of anything. Aone was once again restricted in personality, and his movements restricted and the warstaff-greatsword hybrid surged forth from the floor, almost spanning the entire distance from surface to ceiling.

"ISSUING EQUIPMENT - MODEL871: JÖJOMONKOT, ANCIENT."

---

NUK GRAVEYARD
NUK SYSTEM
LOKOID SPACE

---

Just in orbit of one of the barren planets, masked under a large sensor disruption field is the LHS Dominance and a fleet of modernized vessels. The fleet itself was impressive in its size and strength. The amount of firepower gathered here could glass a planet within a matter of hours. Realistically speaking however, the force is to be split into smaller fleets with more flexibility in mind. All the ships present were constructed in the Nuk Graveyard to keep the Lokoid's mobilization and militarization a secret to the rest of the galaxy.

The ships assembled at the Nuk Graveyard were in clear violation of the Detente Treaty. The losses that were incurred in the opening weeks of the great war was a blunder that the Lokoid would not commit a second time. The Final message of the Ashtar met the conditions of commencing their military modernization program. The program sought to bring the Hierarchy’s Soldiery Caste back up to date and with more tools at their disposal. No longer would the Soldiers of the Lokoid have to make considerations for badly retrofitted ships. But before that could happen, the situation in Agdemnar changed significantly with the Commonwealth’s abandonment of the treaty of Detente. The council of Hierarchs have convened aboard the LHS Dominance after their inspection of the armada’s assembly.

The Hierarch of war began the discussion with Agdemnar in mind, “Supreme Hierarch Araq, the situation of the Agdemnar occupation is developing. The ruse is holding, but with nations looking to steadily pull away from the Treaty of Detente, we should consider our threats and strike appropriately and preemptively.”

To which the Supreme Hierarch replied, “Forgive my doubtful tone, but I don’t think a preemptive strike at our source of export income is advisable, Daggoth. What would be the opinion of Kaloth, the Hierarch of Commerce?”

“The opinion of the Commerce Caste is to express concern...” Kaloth, the youngest among the council of Hierarchs, was a shrewd Lokoid who displayed much potential in the political field, but is rather reserved and patient. “Our foreign economic relations are endangered by such brash action. Subsidiary companies underneath the Lokoid Trade Group have flourished and have garnered much profit for the Hierarchy. However, a war where we are an active participant would likely cripple our economy without careful consideration of our diplomatic situation. May I remind the Hierarchs that at present that we do not monopolize trade in the galaxy. We compete with the human megacorporation known as White Corps.”

Gorn of the Academic caste nodded in agreement and further supported Kaloth’s claims, “Indeed, Commerce Hierarch Kaloth is correct. If we fail to eliminate our enemies and the war becomes protracted then we would suffer significantly. Patience, effort, and diplomacy is needed...”

Zasz of the Industry Caste echoed this sentiment, however, emphasized on immediate action to remedy the situation, “I second the opinion of Gorn and that of Kaloth. However, Daggoth is correct in his observation, the situation is deteriorating quickly. As the overseer of our industry and production, I must advise caution and decisive action. We must secure allies if we are to participate in this war in earnest.”

The Hierarchy’s planetary forces are formidable, but the navy needs the modernization program to stay relevant. The key weakness of the military was evident in the number of modernized ships available for tasking. Overall, there is at least one modern ship for every hundred of the retrofits. The short amount of time that was afforded to the Lokoid after the Ashtar’s final message was not enough to amass a navy strong enough to challenge the superpowers. The Hierarchy fleet at Nuk is the collection of their efforts. Full-scale production would benefit the Lokoid greatly. Zasz has correctly laid the course of action necessary for full-scale production to begin without the risk of considerable pushback or resistance from the rest of the galactic community. The Hierarchy ’must’ secure allies and limit the number of possible hostiles.

“Industry Hierarch Zasz, your points merit reason. But do you honestly believe that the Lokoid Soldiery Caste would be defeated so easily if left to fend for itself?” Daggoth’s pride showed as he criticized Zasz’s apparent lack of faith in the Hierarchy’s martial strength. Daggoth was a Lokoid who led the third defense fleet that prevented further loss of Lokoid territory. To the proud Lokoid commander, it was insulting to even suggest that the military could falter.

“We are not diplomatically prepared to handle the fallout of revealing our true intentions too quickly, O’ Proud Warrior Daggoth...” Gorn interjected, stoking the fire of Daggoth’s pride. “I suggest for you to put less faith in our already aging main fleets and see the realistic dangers of the now more powerful modern ships being fielded by our enemies.”

Daggoth stridulated, his mandibles snapped shut, and his antennae twitched and flailed, he was visibly unhappy with Gorn’s blatant disrespect, “Gorn, you may be one of the most intelligent among the Academic caste, but remember your place you pathetic holonet addicted nymph!” Daggoth spread his tegmina (a protective, papery or leathery cover to insect wings) to reveal reveal his two pairs of wings, such an act is considered as a threat display. Daggoth rushed aggressively towards Research Hierarch, Gorn.

“Daggoth, enough!” the supreme hierarch intervened, stopping Daggoth within an inch of mangling Gorn. “The Hierarch of Research is quite correct, we cannot assume our own superioriority. Stow your ego, or are you unfit in this regard?”

The mere tone of vocalization or stridulation that even came close to sounding like the Lokoid word for ’unfit’ make lesser Lokoid cower—not Daggoth, “I was selected for my effective use of our fleet to drive away foreign aggression. With all due respect, Supreme Hierarch Araq, I am nowhere near unfit.”

“The soldiery caste pick the fearless and the aggressive and it shows clearly. Though this is not a sign of being unfit or nonconforming to the Hierarchy’s standards as a soldier, it is when it is considered that you are part of the ruling caste. Research Hierarch Gorn selected you for this position and I seconded his opinion. Were we wrong to have selected you, Hierarch of War?” Araq’s threats had little effect on such a strong-willed Lokoid, though, it was enough to put Daggoth in his place. The Hierarch of war, stepped back and merely glared at Gorn with his compound eyes.

Gorn, of course, continued his assessment of the politco-security of the Hierarchy, “Now with that fit out of the way, Daggoth shared some news with me a few days ago. The Jalaryians attacked one of our staging grounds at Agdemnar.” The so-called expeditionary force at Agdemnar was already a stretch. The Jalaryian incursion could turn into a string of massive assaults if left unchecked, which would threaten the secrets the Lokoid were so desperate to keep.

The Jalaryians were still quite sore after the Hierarchy wiped out several Lokoid Ashtari cults for not conforming with the strict society that the Hierarchy demanded. Several rebellious elements committed acts of terrorism and were gaining popularity, it was only when the Soldiery caste intervened were these rebellions quelled. Mass arrests, heavy military crackdowns, and martial-law declared on many worlds that harbored even the slightest sentiments of religious inclination. The whole incident was akin to a massacre and was merely passed off as anti-terrorist operations. Such an act was not easily forgiven.

The Hierarchy’s response to any aggressive action taken against the Lokoid is to ask for an inquiry. The inquiry can easily be used as a justification for war depending on the response. This was usually enough evidence for the Lokoid to avoid paying reparations. Araq was inclined to do so for the Jalaryians, seeing as the planetary invasion force had not been fully revealed. “I will request an inquiry about the attack to the Ascendancy’s leadership. However, with the purging of our own Ashtari cultists during the great war, we should prepare for the heavy-conflict with the dogmatic worshipers on Agdemnar. The Jalaryians may not have liked our brutal purge.”

Then there was the issue on Manir and the Rolvian debt. “Perhaps, we could also convince the Rolvians to sign a non-aggression pact...” the Lokoid were instrumental to the Rolvian war effort at Manir, providing them reliable warships that allowed them to push against other foreign powers. They’ve since given the Lokoid contracts for lunar and asteroid mining as well as a contract to keep foreign technology. “As Hierarch of commerce, I suggest we bring them to the table by lowering, or even clearing their debt.”

“I second Kaloth’s judgement. As the Hierarch of Industry, it is known to me that the Rolvians are experiencing problems on Manir. The reconstruction efforts are too slow and if the populists were to be appeased, it would put the Republic into a recession. If we were to provide the means for them to expediate their reconstruction efforts in exchange for a non-aggression pact or even a military alliance, it is likely the Rolvians would be more than willing to consider our offer.” Zasz oversaw the construction of many of the lunar and asteroid mining outposts in Rolvian space while collaborating with Gorn to create a research outpost on Manir. Lokoid overseers have reported to both Zasz and Gorn about the situation developing in the republic.

“I would suggest a gesture of good faith to sweeten the deal. Allowing them to profit from and oversee the Hierarchy’s mining operations in their space would likely further incentive them. I believe a 60/40 to 70/30 split in their favor would suffice.” Gorn understood that while the Rolvian’s would be quite interested in such offers, allowing the Republic to control and profit from resources gathered in within their own territory would give them another source of income to fund the reconstruction of Manir and long after the reconstruction efforts are finished.

Araq mulled over the proposal, but ultimately decided to discuss these terms with the Republic. Surely they would be open to dialogue. If diplomacy proves to be instrumental to the Hierarchy, then it would be folley to remain ignorant. The Hierarchy is known for their rigid structure and their their unyielding philosophies – Survival of the fittest, Natural Selection, Peace through power. Though power often meant physical or martial strength, through a contemporary lens power can be interpreted as economic strength or diplomatic strength. Power would have to be utilized in order to secure the survival of the Hierarchy and in as many forms as possible.

“There is one problem... What if the Asrians get involved?” Daggoth, of course, brought up the still present Asrians who to the best of Lokoid efforts are known only as the ’Manir assailants’ very little else is known about them. The Asrians are introverted isolationists, they did not allow much outside influence, if any at all, to penetrate their civilization. Records of the word ’psionic’ confuse the Lokoid because they are a psionically inept species, thus, the Asrian’s technology, the Asrian’s culture, the Asrian’s biology are all the more foreign to them than the rest of the denizens of the galaxy.

Araq was aware of the threat the Asrian navy may pose if the Asrians were to be rubbed the wrong way, especially when looking at their military actions during the great war. However, the Asrians have not shown too much interest in Lokoid and Rolvius affairs as of late. It was highly unlikely for them to get involved. This formed the basis of Araq’s reply, “Then we will adjust accordingly, Daggoth. It’s unlikely the Asrians will get involved, but if they do, we must put our efforts into understanding their civilization – our limited knowledge of their capabilities is concerning. In the meantime we must study and assess other races for diplomatic compatibility. We must work to limit our potential enemies with any and all means necessary.”

The discussion concluded there. Diplomatic messages were sent through the PsiNet, a letter to request an inquiry with the Jalaryian ascendancy was sent, and a letter to request a diplomatic meeting with the Rolvian

---

AGDEMNAR
AGDEMNAR SYSTEM
AGDEMNAR PLANETARY SURFACE

---

The Lokoid exploratory zones were spread far and wide, with one right next to the shield near Point Jakurna. In the middle of these so-called exploratory zones are so-called research outposts. Unbeknownst to the warring belligerents on Agdemnar, the Lokoid have been masking sensor data via sensor disruption nets. The Lokoid intentionally settled in places where it could be easily explained, such as mountainous regions or thick, wooded areas. These research outposts were a facade to hide military staging grounds connected via a large tunnel network, protected by roaming patrols and scoured by scout drones. Underneath the staging grounds were several divisions worth of vehicles, inactive robots and drones, and equipment waiting for the war to begin. The active patrols were at the very best, 10% of the Lokoid’s true martial strength on Agdemnar. The Hierarchy was still waiting for an excuse to launch their full might.

The Jalaryian’s attack a few days ago may have provided the Lokoid an excuse, or so the Soldiery Caste hoped. They’ve been there for months with little to no activity—the calm before the storm. Then, out of the blue, a transmission was received in Lokoid repeating the same phrase over and over and over.

”HELLO.HELLO.HELLO.HELLO...”

The Hierarchy do not communicate casually over military comms. The rogue transmission was enough to send the Lokoid, both on the ground and in space, into high gear just to investigate the transmission and send a reply.

”Unknown sender, identify yourself! Repeat. Unknown sender, identify yourself!” the Lokoid demanded, yet it droned ever on with its drivel without giving an appropriate response. However, the Lokoid did detect other signals from the source being sent through all known frequencies of communication. All other signals and communication that weren’t directed at the Lokoid were heavily encrypted. This continued for a short while until it stopped suddenly. The source was an object steadily approaching Agdemnar.

The Hierarchy could not investigate it fully with most assets bound to the research outposts staging grounds and the so-called expeditionary zones on Agdemnar. But it could, send a drone to ’survey the area for setting up a new research outpost’. In actuality, the Hierarchy would send scout drones to observe the object crashing towards the surface. It was transmitting something odd, it wasn’t of Lokoid design, and it was crashing towards Agdemnar. The higher ups at Agdemnar felt that this was too coincidental to just be malfunctioning space junk. They had to investigate the object with whatever means available to them and determine whether or not it posed a serious security threat.

In the Orbit of the planet a fleet of almost 50 ships mostly destroyers and few cruisers with the companionship of a Yakasir class battleship although big in number their presence was almost non-visible thanks in part to staying close together using light distorters making the fleet invisible and also using most of their reactors energy to mask their sonar detection and radio.

In the Battleship Scitillam, the ship´s AI together with the individual's where all except the organic crew inside the Uteqx main frame of Coms installed in the ship the head of the fleet was talking with his second in command analyzing the situation of the planet and orbit.
The Captain said “Interesting the choice of the Ashtar, where to leave their last legacy” his second in command then replied to him “The Ashtar disappeared but they left their last legacy here how convenient that the other races would seek their power as well” The Captain of the ship analyzed the space around and saw the Commonwealth and the Ascendancy in orbital conflict seeing that he said “True be told they sought peace but they forgot conflict is natural for organics” he pointed at the space ships.

His second in command then replied, “What about our research stations on the planet are still is safe?” The captain then said with a tone of worry “Their status hasn't changed yet, they are still in secret in the surface locating the Ashtar secrets, yet if we showed that we found interest in the Ashtars legacy, it would show that their Impact was deep then firstly though.”

As the time ensued they received a message from the Installation saying “Emergency Commonwealth troops found main entrance Initiate protocol 5” The Captain of the ship processing through the warning said “Looks like it's time for us to show ourselves” The Second command contemplated “Can we fight their fleets after we deploy?” the Captain then said “No we deploy and enter the Stroclonos dimension warning the Capital then is basically hell” The Captain said to the Battleships “Sound the red alarm” The ship then said “Yes captain.”

In in the drop pod bay from the battleship, a human named Chris was writing in a book while sitting in his drop pod that was capable of carrying 20 people he wrote: “Although the ship had to keep its temperature it appears that my Power armor is keeping me warm for now…” When he was finishing the sentence he heard the alarms and the lights going back up making he to scratch the paper he then put the book on the inventory of his drop pod, he then he heard the Soldiers bodies awakening and booting up, he then said: “Hey guys what is happening.”

One of the Uteqx jumped from the awakening and said “I don't know Chris I just know it appears we are landing they didn't gave us the Information yet better put your belt on” as the Uteqx attached themselves to the seats Chris sited activating his helmet closing it while the sirens would play in the background, until a message came to all individuals in the pod from the captain “Attention all personnel, who is gonna land on the planet, hostile troops are inbound towards a installation in the planet, the objective is to protect it and secure the surrounding areas, due to that our forces gonna be deployed in five locations across the planet to make the enemy forces think we are making a capture of land good luck to all.”

The message then ended with hundreds of thousands of drop pods being launched, from all ships in direction of the planet accompanied with Strike crafts and even Bomber crafts some of the drop pods being big as buildings, targeting the five regions on his dropship was nervus due to the tremors of the launch one of the Uteqx across from him said “First time?” Chris looked at him with a face of worried and said “Yes” The Uteqx just said in a cold tone “There is a first time for everything, but if you don't calm down you gonna die first” Chris remained silent for a while he then asked “Hey I have a question” The same Uteqx from before then said “What is your question” Chris said in a sheeply manner “uh… the Uteqx are famed for not having galactic ambitions right?” The Uteqx looked at him and said again in a cold voice “Yes we are” Chris then asked, “Then why are we here?” The Uteqx then answered back with doubt also in his voice “I... don't know.”

The Captain of the Battleship soon realized the recent message arriving from a new kind of Comms at the same time that the fleet where opening the Dimensional gates and leaving thinking to himself “Hum… an interesting new achievement” The Commonwealth forces in orbit were not expecting the Uteqx from appearing and thanks in part to Ascedency forces been engaged with then the fleet begun to move away from planetary orbit with ease, as the fleets where finally out of planetary orbit they entered Stroclonos dimension making then disappeared from realspace leaving only a trail of radiation behind, while sending the message to 01010010 warning of the situation.

In the surface of the planet any radar begun to go wild detecting the entrance of multiple targets into the atmosphere while in the planetary facility commonwealth soldiers of a nearby where examining a steel door hidden under a rock until they heard explosions from above their heads until capsules began to collide around their position and in other locations around the planet from this initial pods SOC-13 begun to rise from then, extending their legs and weapons and beginning to fire lasers, bullets, and even missiles.

When some small drop pods finally landed soldiers exited from then screaming “For the Union” shooting against any troop that didn't had their recognition mark the commonwealth soldiers got knocked down with the impact from the bullets while some retreated although not very far because of the tripods as the remaining troops began to land in their sectors and fortify their positions one of the commanders walked to the steel door and said “Looks like it's time to enter this games.”





The Capital building of the union was the biggest building of the whole planet and so tall that it passed even the planets atmosphere being compared to a large space elevator in appearance with its lower base being the exposed size of a medium-sized city that then disappeared under the metal shielding that covered the majority of the surface the only buildings that raised above the shielding were the space elevators and towers that existed over the planet.

On top of the building there was happening a reunion of the amber conclave discussing the current status of the nation, in one of the seats of the council Cybel a human-sized been a code-21 he said utilising C.B “The reconstruction of the capital influence sphere has been 73% complete, in this pace reconstruction will be finished in record time, allowing resources to finally be diverted to other sectors of importance.”

Prism was hulking giant been a code-132 in appearance after hearing what Cybel said he then talked saying “In that case, I believe we should initiate, the second wave of military reactivation, especially since our neighbors, have been increasingly aggressive plus the piracy in the Outer influence sphere”

Codex was processing until that moment when he said “Expanding our military could easily make the other Main powers grow weary of our expansion” Prism hearing that said with disgust on his tone due to the organics “They are like rats and we are the lion we shouldn't bother with that” Helix during his computation then said “I mean piracy and illegality has been ramped in the Economic sphere we can use that pretext to increase our forces”

Aura then said, “Keeping peace should be our objective also the economic sphere had developed very trained militias to defend themselves...” Prim intervened saying “That is the most optimistic results the majority of planets are still under precarious situations although we should increase our military they are…” Prism made a stop of rationality due to his memories of the Civil war and said “Very worried.”

Codex then said “We might have purged the last officers but still need to keep our image absolute reactivating the army would start bringing tension but also doubts if we learned something about the civil war”

Cybel then said “Cast a vote then all in favor raise your hand” Prism and Helix said “Yes” Cybel then said “Against “With codex saying no and with Aura with doubts saying “No” Prim then said to Cybel “I guess with you brother” Cybel then after a small pause said “Yes”
Cybel then said “Second order of business is the rumored detente violations plus Agdemar” Helix then said “Why to discuss the Detente we barely have the power to enforce it” Codex picked up saying “Yes we don't still need to be vigilant in case we need to initiate protocol DTB” Aura wondering said “Who would violate the treaty Cybel?” Cybel then said “Rumors put forward of the nations that broke the detente treaty are The Imperial systems commonwealth, The Asrian ascendency, The Lokoid Hierarchy and possibly the Valerius federation” Prism then said “Lest look at that later we should focus on ourselves first” Cybel then said “Those in favor of skipping the Detente raise your hand" everyone raised their hands with the exception of Codex Cybel said “Passed by majority.”

Cybel then said, “The second order is Agdemar...” Everyone in the room got their attention back to Cybel when he said Agdemar. As Cybel continued talking “According to our reports Commonwealth troops were able to find the main entrance to one of our five secret facilities in the planet this led our escort fleet to have to engage to secure the facility at the same time a new race entered the system transmitting this message.”

He used his computation systems for a second until they all could hear a message constantly repeating “Hello.Hello.Hello” Prism then said, “Contact protocols ask us to initiate talks immediately but our ships are currently busy we shall postpone that now dealing with our revelation in Agdemar I support the concept of sending more forces there in my opinion” Codex hearing that said “The Ashtar left a big mark on this galaxy alone we need to make sure that their last legacy don't reach organic hands Or else.”

the others if they where on their bodies they would nod Helix would raise his voice with an idea on his mind saying “WE can try to claim overtime if we send a Space station there or build one, BUT what is the best to take organics of a planet?” Prism with positivity said giggling “Oh I know what you mean” Codex also knew and he said, “You plan on making an artificial nuclear asteroid and colliding it with Agdemar?” Helix then replied “Is the fastest way the atmosphere would be contaminated it would give us time to prepare” The room was filled with uncertainty until Cybel said “Anyone in favor?” All of then except Helix said “Unknow!” Cybel then said, “Idea will be put on hold, meanwhile send reinforcements to Agdemar.” Cybel then said I believe this finishes session Aura then said: “How much time this time?” Codex then said, “I believe we spend 254 hours in here.” Cybel then said “out of the room”
Everyone left the room except for Codex he waited for a while looking at the table he sighed and walked away saying "Wish you were still here brother.

IMPERIAL CAPITOL COMPLEX
TIIR
0907 HRS 08.18.3152
Amara and Rose were already having a back & forth over the day’s itinerary. The rowsing speech yesterday afternoon created as much of a stir as expected in domestic politics. The international regime had remained strangely quiet. Evidently the nations of the galaxy were unmoved by a veritable declaration of crusade and intended to withhold judgement until action was presented. “I’ve been trying to acknowledge every MP personally but that’s not even possible anymore. Your office is up to two dozen requests about military action plans, and the primarch has even said that he’s interested in scheduling a vote of confidence on armed deployment by the end of the week if we get the documentation out in time.”
“I need you for the marathon Rose, not the sprint. Don’t overwork yourself just yet,” Her Excellency retorted, “And fantastic work as always. Harvy how fast can you get together an action report for parliament?”
“I already talked to the joint chiefs Madame and we can have it on your desk for review by this afternoon and in the hands of the ministers by tomorrow. Are we waiting for confidence before we pull the trigger?”
“Not on something this time sensitive. We pull the trigger as soon as I can give it a once-over.”

The ensemble stepped away into Rose’ oversized office. “Hey how come my office isn’t this nice?” Harvy’s envy radiating across the space.
“Because yours is issued by military personnel office and mine comes from Madame Empress here,” Rose teased him.
“Guys ...” Madame Lisett restored the collective focus, “Harvy is the Himmenez still here at home?
“No Ma’am I dispatched it late last night with news the Eighth Fleet Expeditionary Corps was incoming.”
“That it?” She suspected there was more attached, seeing as Harvy was a bit of an overzealous go-getter.
“I told Captain Kennedy he was green to make an incursion onto the planetary surface ahead of reinforcements arriving if he saw an opportunity. He knows how long he’s waiting and I trust he won’t make a poor decision on the matter.”
“Is he aware of how large his landing site needs to be to support the incoming ground forces?”
“Yes Ma’am. I included what details had been finalized regarding 8th Expeditionary’s force composition. Himmenez dispatched out of Gate 4 at Centaurus Beta around 1am capital time.”

“Madame we should evaluate our diplomatic options prior to the arrival of a battlefleet. The ambassadorial corps has been pretty silent so far but I doubt that’ll persist once there’s battlecruisers in play.”
Rose ... always the diplomat, and the optimist. Madame Lisett gnawed at her finger, lost in thought. She had doubts that diplomacy could pave a path that avoided carnage. She looked over and gave Rose a nod. “Yeah, walk me through that.”
“Well your office is still blocking the diplomatic credential applications from the Asrians and the Jalaryians-”
“Cancel the Asrian application outright. The Jalaryians should rescind theirs once we start turning them to slag over Agemmar.”
Harvy cringed slightly at the continual mispronunciation while Rose carried on, “Will do. I suspected that was inevitable. Of the nations who have ambassadorial delegations, pretty much everyone isn’t super likely to have a problem with us ripping into the ascendancies but everyone’s a wildcard if we start trying to be possessive over the contents of that Ashtar installation. I get that we’d rather not share powerful weapons but we’re gonna run out of friends real quick if we don’t.”
Madame Lisett huffed. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. In other news, who can we count on as viable alliances?”
“We know the Utopians are with us through hell and high water when it comes to putting the boot to the necks of the ascendancies. The Valerius Federation I think would be receptive, but I’m not too sure about the military capabilities. Harvy would know more.”
“Suboptimal. Not useful for conquesting.”

At least Harvy was straight to the point about it. “Ma’am we’ve failed to consider several key players because of a lack of existing diplomacy channels.”
The Empress gave him the room. “Okay go.”
“The Rolvians control a world with Ashtar ruins. It was conquered and held by the Asrians in the war. There’s a grudge there that can be exploited, and more importantly a strategic asset that needs to be managed.”
“With the right voices in their ear and powerful fleets at their back, they could be brought to bear against the Ashtar worshipers,” Rose obligatorily explored the peaceful option.
“I was going to advise triple-zeroing the dig site but that could work too.”
“Harvy are you seriously going to recommend dropping nukes on a still-neutral party? If they haven’t buried the hatchet with the Asrians yet they sure as hell will after!” Rose spat back.
“We can handle that problem after we handle asset denial. Their force is-”
“It doesn’t need to be a problem at all. This isn’t a dick measuring contest over who’s big gun is bigger-”

“GUYS! Cut it out!” Madame Lisett momentarily lost her temper in the presence of close allies, “Rose is right to not lead with thermonuclear ordnance. I’ll keep asset denial in the back of my mind on that but I won’t jump straight to it. Harvy, anything else? Preferably with less nukes.”
“While I, and most of the joint chiefs for that matter, hate the idea or working with insects ... the Lokoids have come up in discussion.”
“Yeah I already hate this too. Military capability?”
“Naval: garbage. We would have to do the heavy lifting there, not that we can’t. Infantry: promising. Now they fared worse than we during the cult uprising. Local law enforcement handled it for us but they required military deployment. My reports say they’re already on thin ice with the Jalaryians. They could be a decisive player in a ground campaign on Agdemnar.”

Madame Lisett thought long and hard over the collective Alduuri history with insectoid races. “Just to confirm, no relation to-”
“Negative, not a chance. I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.”
She slowly began to nod approvingly, the ramifications coming clear. “Rose our day just got busier. Can you work on putting together an ambassadorial delegation to send to the Lokoids? I’ve got to work on communiques to the Lokoids, Rolvians, and the Commonwealth.”
“The Commonwealth?”
“They’re far enough away, and their ships tend to broadside enough, that betraying them later is always a viable option. They have a sizable fleet in system already, and they’re already scrapping with the Jalaryians. That’s useful to us.”

COVWAR THIRD RECONNAISSANCE UNIT
AGDEMNAR SYSTEM
1629 HOURS 08.18.3152
The shimmering light racing towards the star flashed into a ship in an instant. AMS Himmenez lit up its drives in the fringes of the system, making a slow cruise inward.
“Orion, Himmenez. Come in Orion.”
“Orion, Himmenez. Please respond.”
Even with light lag, the Orion was slow to acknowledge. “Himmenez, Orion. Welcome back Himmenez. You got news for us?”
Boy did the Himmenez have news. The Orion was clear to attempt a planetary landing if the opportunity presented itself, and the Eighth Fleet Expeditionary Corps was inbound in 48 hours to reinforce. “Good to hear Himmenez. We’ve got an unidentified contact pressing for landing we’ve wanted to get in closer for.”

The Orion’s messages were just coming from an enlisted comms officer. Captain Kennedy was still pouring over the data from the incoming object. Its form had to be highly geometric because the radar signature was near nonexistent. They’d even risked shining a tight-beam radar at it to confirm. It’s trajectory put it on a landing course for a slightly aggressive location, while the area behind it was quite devoid. Kennedy was disappointed that he would not be able to recommend that 8th Expeditionary land in a position to crush either the Asrians or the Jalaryians at the outset, but the overall strategic value of such a potentially costly action at the outset was still questionable. It would have no doubt been incredibly satisfying though. “Nav, can we go for landing in sector 512? I want eyes on the anomaly and to secure an LZ for 8th Expeditionary.”
“Yessir. There’s two spots with enough flat ground for the main landing force in that sector. What is your preference?”

He brought the map back up to reanalyze the terrain. Site Bravo was a bit more defensible, but was farther back. Site Alpha provided more potential as a combat base but was a higher risk to hold with so few forces. They would be running the gauntlet until 8th Expeditionary arrived to reinforce. But it also gave better vantage on the unidentified object attempting landing. “Nav, go for Site Alpha. Take us in. Comms, call our forces into escort formation to cover our descent.”

The ships jumped into formation on the far side of Agdemnar, where the subspace disruptions from the facility were dampened and sublight reloc into lower orbit was possible. Engine plumes lit up in all directions, stabilizing the formation from whatever latent velocity the vessels held from previous trajectories, eventually converging into a retrograde burn. The formation whizzed around the planet, skimming the atmosphere over the enormous shield, and the Orion fired her reverse engines on landing approach. “Shields to full power, weapons prep for atmospheric combat, prime lift engines.”
“Sir, fire condition?”
“Ignore non-contact incoming,” Kennedy ordered, confusing his officers.
“Uhh...”
“Ignore warning fire. If it actually strikes the hull, shoot back.”
“Yes sir, understood.”

The spaceframe shuddered from the turbulence of reentry. The full reverse burn was maintained to escape the plasma shell as quick as possible. The lack of aerodynamic prowess of a tactical cruiser made the deceleration a swift process. The warship’s six main lift engines ignited to abate the freefall and gently cruise to the LZ. The Orion was now on fuel clock: the amount of time a warship could maintain flight in an atmosphere before needing to land or boost back to vacuum. Exceeding the fuel clock risked stranding the craft on the surface, where refuelling was extremely difficult.

Its heavy-duty landing struts extended from the hull as terrain approached. By no shortage of luck, there was no orbit-to-surface fire that came in. Captain Kennedy’s veterancy told him that no such luck would befall the 8th Fleet’s landing forces. They were merely investigators. The larger transports were an invasion. The tumultuous vibrations from the lift engines came to a halt, the spaceframe settling heavily against the soil and stone beneath it. The lift platform in the center of the cargo hold descended on its cables, armored vehicles and marines in full power suits riding to the surface. The blast doors of the flight deck sluggishly heaved open, revealing more crane arms and more forces lined up to be unloaded.

“Cerberus Squad, take a ‘dillo and head southeast towards unknown’s LZ. Investigate and report, do not engage,” the marine commander’s voice came over the radio with orders.
A squad of marines loaded into a lightweight 4x4 and drove off towards the site an unknown obelisk had set down at.

IMPERIAL CAPITOL COMPLEX
TIIR
1648 HRS 08.18.3152
Rose and Madame Lisett were shuffling over drafts of diplomatic communications to be sent out, piecing together a final copy from bits and bobs from their own separate revisions. Harvy was somewhere in the military wing putting together envoy divisions for departure. “I think this draft is ready to go for Rolvius. How goes it on the piece for Lokoid?” Rose looked up from her plex, staring at Madame Lisett still feverishly scribbling away.
“Uuhhh, read it to me real quick.”
Rose cleared her throat and started at the top.


“I don’t normally use the title of ‘throne emperor’ but otherwise I like it. Very formal, but I suppose that is what it needs to be right now.”
“Throne Emperor is the most formal title held by the sitting emperor and is only used in formal diplomacy. The gendered form is accepted domestic,” Rose bragged.
“Well in that case, I like it. Save that for sending.”
“Will do Madame, now what have you got for Lokoid?”


“Also very good. No revisions from me so if you like it, pack and send it.”
“Thanks Rose, now .... Commonwealth ...”
“I actually took a peek at that while you were reading if you don’t mind ...” she admitted sheepishly.
“No not at all. And ... I know, its rough.”
“Yeah, yeah it is. But I think I can fix it. Give me just a moment.”


Rose had a shred of a grimace when Madame Lisett went to critique it. “Well ... its certainly candid.”
“You hate it ... don’t you?”
“I sure as hell wasn’t doing any better,” Amara conceded, “and candor might open a door for us that schmoozing doesn’t. I think we should send it.”
“If you’re okay with it I’ll have it packed and sent out, standard diplomatic ciphers.”
The Empress gave a nod, “I’m just worried that yesterday’s speech makes any attempt at negotiating with the Commonwealth dead on arrival. If their intelligence network is remotely decent, they’ve heard it already.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think that message will make things worse, even if it’s laughed at.”
“If you’re so confident then let’s go ahead and package it all.”
Rose gave a thumbs up, and headed off to have the communiques dispatched accordingly: beamed over PsiNet to the Commonwealth and to Rolvius, and sent up to an envoy ship ready for dispatch to the Hierarchy.

Prime Speaker's Office
Rolvius
0:34 Since Foreign Fleet Arrival

The Prime Speaker's office was usually a modest mess of activity, with staffers, bureaucrats, interns and Ministresses coming and going at speed or providing needed updates. At the moment, Vannifar had closed herself off from the needs of her cabinet and staffs. Thirty minutes of peace. That was all she asked for, but the sounds of people being turned away outside the Speakers Bough made it seem like there was a small mob waiting to return to business as usual.

First and most important was the Commonwealth. The use of courier ships was expensive and, sooner or later, an investigative reporter in either their jurisdiction or Rolvius would begin asking questions why such-and-such's intern's betrothed was making expensive, unannounced trips to Foreign Capitals. Then the proverbial shit would hit the fan across the news networks- the coverup of the two notes would be worse than their "crime". This would have to go through the official channels and prepare the groundwork for her campaign to hold on to power.



It didn't spell out that this was in direct reply to the message sent, but Metternich was a smart cookie. There'd been no problems with Tarakovsky's behavior that she'd voiced, but they had been found getting too chummy with the Naturalist Genome Front. The NGF wasn't a major player in the elections, so it posed little threat in the grand balance, and it gave Vannifar some anti-corruption credibility with those who weren't as concerned with flexing muscle against foreign adversaries.

Plus the bumper crop from Manir was coming in. Prices were dropping at a steady rate and Treasury was warning they needed to dump the food ASAP or enjoy a full crash. Lucky for Treasury, Vannifar had a buyer lined up in the Commonwealth The contracts for grain shipments were already being floated to the Praetorian Exchange. Initial bites were slow, but Vannifar assumed it was a matter of time before Metternich got his cartels and colonies to buy, buy, buy.

Then came the matter of the Federation.



The Federation was a tightrope and a half. They hadn't set foot in Rolvian Space beyond escorting shipping cartels and providing humanitarian support. They hadn't gone so far as to fire broadsides with Rolvian ships against the occupiers, but there was good blood between them. Still, the situation in Maya was concerning. If a single, high profile Geneticist vanished while on a humanitarian mission, what might be bubbling beneath the surface for their larger projects on the horizon?

Then came the two with the most weight, the most consequence, the most to lose and gain from.





With all of these notices sent via the secure com networks, Vannifar stood from her desk, opened the door to her office, marched through a throng of interns and bureaucrats, and loudly called for a full council be called in the next three hours and a bottle of Terran bourbon with ice.



The Executive Branch Bough
Rolvius
3:34 Since Foreign Fleet Arrival in Rolvian Space

Speaker Vannifar strode out to the upper boughs of the Executive Branch, the sunlight of Rolvius Prime in cascading through the heavy leaves up above the platform. For the first time in local weeks, near the entire cabinet was assembled in the same place at the same time- barring one significant absence.

Ministresses Multana and Thrun stuck together, thick as thieves, firmly in their Manir Solidarity corner. The two most dangerous members of the cabinet at the moment- if they gave the signal, the Manir faction could up and leave, join the opposition, and the government would topple, raising the Reactionaries to power. Fortunately, the two of them were still in Vannifar's pocket. They seemed to be enjoying the profits coming their way from managing the reconstruction efforts on Manir. Their clothing and jewelry showed they definitely weren't left wanting.

Ministress Rayne, head of the Treasury, was rubbing elbows with Defense Ministress Kiora, both of them trying their best to look disinterested in the business of state while chatting over a shared love of the show Will It Splice? Brain drivel on the holonetworks, but Vannifar couldn't fault them for having their own

"Alright, let's bring this to order and get down to business. We've got a secure line to Nok up on Three but I'm not sure how our encryption holds with modern Asrian Battlecruisers and Battleships in the void above, so watch your mouths. Defense, how are we looking?"

Kiora brushed a lock of blue-brown hair behind her ear and opened her tech-pad, prompting the others' at the table to open a display.

"First, Second, and Third Flotillas are at ready condition Yellow. Converging on Rolvius at the moment. Civil Defense on Manir is mobilizing, but we have no signs of invasion hyper-prints at this time. Admiral Giana is in contact with our arrivals and directing them toward Rolvius 3 for parley. The Ashtar ruins are secure and Mass Extinction Protocol is on the table."

"Wait, we're entertaining that option?" The hologram of Roalesk Ran, Minister of Trade, flickered briefly, but his deep frown could cut through any static.

"All options are on the table, Roalesk. If everyone wants the toy and is willing to touch off another Great War for it, it may be best that no one gets it. This might at least force them to sit at the table and talk about this like reasonable adults instead of kicking off another campaign that will kill millions of our people."

"'Reasonable adults?' You've never met Lady Olliana have you? Her Solstice Gifts might as well be mail bombs! But let's back up here- how are we sure that triggering the Operation it won't be localized? What if it cracks the planet? The Asrians never breached the lower levels of the facility. We don't know what's down there! It could be a private art hall, or it could be an inert Ashtar Reactor!"

Why do you think I nicknamed a geonuclear detonation "Operation Mass Extinction", Ran?

"I'm aware of the dangers. But we can't sustain another full blown Campaign for Manir, even with the Gaea operational. We're weeks away from an election, we have multiple star nations now traipsing around in our borders - one friend, one foe - and there's active shooting on Agdemnar. It's an undeclared war right now, but if someone gets kicked in the testes too hard, it will go hot, and quickly. If anyone thinks it'll be just fine to open a second front in our space, there's not much we can do to stop it unless they come in range of Rolvius or Mezla. We've got enough orbital defenses and Strike Craft to blow anyone to smithereens, but no ability to project power into the void beyond the Gaea- and we all know what that was built for. We need to have an option to shoot the hostage this time. So yes, Operation Mass Extinction is on the table. The end."

Minister Ran offered no further objections, but Vannifar could tell he was less than thrilled.

"Now, for our unexpected arrivals. Ran, I've directed the Green Agency to secure the Overlook Resort in the Marayan Hills. It's the best and most defensible location for our high profile guests. Rustic, but plenty of space and it's approved for off-worlder tourism. If they want a royal suite or a hunter's lodge, arrange it. Make the visitors comfortable. Extend every courtesy. Let them know that I'll be making a trip to hold negotiations in person once I've got everything squared away down here."

There was no waiting for an acknowledgement. Ran was aware of the defensive implications and military options. He would be able to make informed decisions from there until Vannifar could make the trip. But his pained expression might as well have spoken for him. 'Don't leave me with these people for too long.'

"Now. The Lokoids, Alduur, and my damned pet cronach all want to forge a military alliance while there's smoke coming from the engine room. Let's talk strategy..."

Bend-Serkeft Ring, Capital Station

For once, the chambers of the Civîneşra were silent save for a single voice. It was a rare occurrence for the unruly council, which still hadn't managed to gain the least bit of decorum despite its new surroundings. Though they now sat in a room covered in alien decor from the greatest powers of the galaxy, decor which was supposed to impart a sense of grandness and honor upon those whom it surrounded, they remained the same bunch of loud-mouthed, mannerless, tribal representatives as they always had been. But for the past hour or so they had all been completely silent, captivated by the holographic projection in the center of the room.

It was an amalgamation of news reports from across the galaxy, all about the Commonwealth. To the Bilnd-Sûmangişt, Biryar Arlydlan, it represented the perfect opportunity for the Urdji to withdraw from the treaty themselves. He was already coming up with ways to spin it, how best to convince the galaxy that the Urdji were just trying to survive-or trying to keep the fragile peace held together. As he looked at the faces of the tribal representatives in the chamber he, for once, felt like it wouldn't take much effort to get them to go along with it.

The stream of reports finally came to an end and Arlydlan was quick to get the first word in. In a more civilized (as the landers might put it) government's chambers it would have been a given that their leader would speak first. No such guarantee could ever be made for the Civîneşra.

"As you can see," he said, "we have found ourselves in a rather grave situation."

His words were distorted slightly, somewhat slurred and somewhat deepened, in his trademark gravelly voice. To the Urdji it made him sound wise beyond his years, but to a lander it was only an indication of illness. Many of his vocal chords were paralyzed entirely by a tumor, a rather common affliction for Urdji elders but not quite as common among men in their middle age such as he. He had been born into a small and poor tribe and had lived in their liveship's outer hull, having been exposed to as much radiation as a man twice his age.

The representatives nodded, all following.

"Indeed," said one, "the actions of the Commonwealth are worrying. They are clearly on the warpath."

"And we will be caught in the middle of that path, just like last time!" Shouted another, "I had hoped not to say this, but keeping the Mez-Jemivan intact was the right decision. I regret voting against it."

"We cannot all be right about the future, Vaiger," said Arlydlan, "none of us can fault you for hoping for peace."

"What shall we do about this, Bilnd-Sûmangişt?"

Arlydlan wondered for a moment if it had even been worth it to strategize, since it seemed as though he would get his wishes handed to him on a silver platter.

"It pains me to say this," he began, "truly, it does. But I am afraid we have no choice. The stars are our home, our livelihood, we have all been born in the void and we shall all come to rest in it. The Commonwealth, in their attempts to conquer the stars, is making themselves a threat to our very existence. This madness surrounding the planet of Agdemnar seems to have eroded what little good judgment the landers once had. Neither I nor any of you have any idea whether the Commonwealth will see us as a potential ally or just another stepping stone to some delusion of galactic hegemony. We must remember, to the landers we are not to be respected, not to be honored. They see us, every last one of us, as mere savages! If the Commonwealth thinks that we might stand in their way they will almost certainly not hesitate one moment to destroy us, and their withdrawal from the treaty is a sure sign that they are making sure they will be able to do so!"

He paused, allowing the representatives to nod, mutter, and shout. His words had provoked the exact response he had hoped for, and some of the more jingoistic representatives in the chamber were positively frothing at the mouth.

"The very world which hangs beneath our feet, Bend-Serkeft, was once theirs. And though we went to great lengths to ensure its people were treated well, even accepting many of them into our own nation, a power-hungry and senseless Commonwealth may well choose to use it as an excuse to exterminate our race! Regardless of the diplomatic repercussions, regardless of the morality of such an act, we cannot allow them to construct new warships unchecked by the treaty while we are still bound by its law! As I say these words I wish, I truly wish, that we had another option but we simply do not! The stars are our home!"

A few representatives echoed his words, but this time he did not pause.

"We must defend them! The landers have left us with no other option! They have forced our hand! We must withdraw from the treaty, for the sake of our very survival! The other landers will follow the lead of the Commonwealth, we must not let them come to dominate our home! Our territory!"

The chamber erupted into true and proper chaos, with seemingly every single representative shouting at the top of their lungs. Arlydlan had to try his best not to smile at the display, which was all he needed to know for certain that there would be little resistance to withdrawing from the treaty themselves.

"All in favor of withdrawing, rise!" He bellowed.

Almost everyone jumped up out of their seats, still shouting, echoing the words of the Bilnd-Sûmangişt.

"Then it is decided! As of this day, the Mez-Jemivan is no longer bound by the Treaty of Detente!"



Liveship Leşkgemmar

Hirç'kur walked into the workshop, the smell of ground steel, ozone, and burnt metal assaulting his nose the moment he opened the door. He went through the same motions he always did the morning, donning his gloves, helmet, and wing-sheath. Most of the men at Vekrî were clipped despite the Leşkgemmar's abundant open air, and the fact that he wasn't tended to be the primary subject of workplace banter. He carefully maneuvered himself and his wings through the smelly, spark filled shop to the master's office.

It was a cramped space for Hirç'kur, but rather spacious to most of the clipped workers. They were, perhaps, somewhat more dedicated to their craft than he. Hirç'kur, and his few other unclipped brethren, considered their wings a show of pride-proof that Leşkgemmar was a proud and prosperous tribe. But still, he was young and easily excited, and when his coworkers spoke seriously about his wings they often said that he would eventually either have them clipped or choose a different line of work.

"Maybe I'll be a Ranger", he tended to say, to deflect from the subject. He himself didn't know which of those he would choose if the choice was forced upon him, he was too young still to quite know what his role would be. Some days he wanted to quit and choose some new, obscure vocation. Usually after he'd just read about it on the net. Others he felt like there was nothing he would rather do than work with the Vekrî Guild-at the very least he was proud of what he did there.

"Morning Hirç'kur." Said the master, "Not a good one for me, unfortunately. How're those armor plates coming along?"

"Just about finished the order, master." Said Hirç'kur, "I had the Rangers test a selection last night, they couldn't find any problems. What's bothering you?"

"It's the Civîneşra. They just sent in an order for a new design they want. Planetary transport of some kind, has to be cheap, reliable, and have a fairly long range. Everyone's stumped. I don't think the representatives understand that we aren't exactly experts with this sort of thing. We've only barely started building tanks again after a few centuries, and making any of those damn things work was a hell of a challenge! Y'know, they even want longer range tanks too! Every way I look at the specs they sent it just looks impossible, you just can't fit that many batteries into these things without making them death traps."

"What about those fusion tanks that... uh... whoever it was drew up a couple years back?"

"Too expensive. The Civîneşra wants a full and proper army for cheap, and they're not willing to change supply lines either. Which means that... that weird burning shit the landers use, whatever they call it, isn't an option."

"Oil?"

"Yeah that stuff."

"From what I've heard it's probably best that we don't use it anyways. It kills planets, or something like that."

"How the hell does it do that?"

"I dunno, just something I hear from the aliens that stop by at that bar by the docks."

"Weird. Well anyways, have a look at the specs yourself."

"Me, master?"

"This is probably one of those things where you need someone who doesn't know anything to give you their perspective. Neither me nor any of the other guys here with experience working with the tanks has any ideas."

The master handed a stack of rag-like "papers" made from thick, cotton like plant fibers over to Hirç'kur. They had a number of demands written on them in big words that just reeked of formality. Not the sort of thing Hirç'kur, or anyone else besides politicians for that matter, was good with. But he waded through the unnecessarily verbose documents, eyes widening with each paragraph.

"By Xwêdh, that's ridiculous!" He exclaimed, "There's no way we could build something to these specs that runs on batteries! What about hydrogen fuel cells?"

"They get weak if they get too hot, and they want the things usable in just about any environment."

"RTGs?"

"I actually suggested those specifically, and get this! Arlydlan personally shot the idea down, saying he wanted to minimize radiation exposure! Radiation exposure! Who gives a shit about radiation exposure? That's a part of everyday life, for fuck's sake! A little RTG isn't gonna give you cancer any quicker than the stars will!"

"Well I think we all know how Arlydlan feels about the course of the Mez-Jemivan. What with all the resources going towards Bend-Serkeft. Guess he's planning on having a big chunk of us live on the land someday."

"Ah, like that'll ever happen. Space has always been our home, and the vacuum is the only territory we'll ever need if you ask me."

"Agreed. I respect the man, he won the war for us of course, but I feel like he's got some damn odd ideas. Anyways, what if we just didn't use electricity for the drive at all?"

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know, find some other way to generate the force. Spin some stuff around with steam, maybe? Like those little balls kids play with but on a larger scale."

"Even if there was an easy way to make the steam I don't think that'd be efficient enough. You could burn trees or something for heat, I guess, but I have to assume that would be 'complicating the supply lines' too."

"I wonder what the landers do?"

"Beats me. Maybe they just have better batteries. Tell you what, you're ahead on the armor order so I'm going to give you some time off once you finish it. See if you can help the design boys with this."

"I'm just a welder, master."

"Which means you don't know jack shit about design and propulsion, which is perfect. We're going to need to think outside of the box on this one if we want to deliver-and I do intend to deliver. Vekrî doesn't fail, no matter how unreasonable the demands."

"Well I'll try not to let you down then. I'll do some research on it."

"Just get the armor done first," said the master with a chuckle, "hmmm, armor. What if we used a lighter material for the tank?"

The master took the papers right out of Hirç'kur's hands and double-checked the specs, then tore off a blank piece of the final page and started doing some calculations. Hirç'kur knew better than to interrupt the master after he'd gotten a spark of inspiration like that, so he left for his place at one of the many tables in the workshop.



Liveship Stêgiri

Stêgiri was far from an important ship in the Mez-Jemivan. One of the largest ships of the Merivelaş Tribe, yes, but the Merivelaş Tribe as a whole was far from important itself. The tribe had, however, chosen to move most of its liveships into the territories conquered during the Great War. Their chief had considered it to be an opportunity to grow their tribe's economy, and so the Stêgiri had found itself just a few jumps away from Bend-Serkeft. A few jumps closer, as it happened, to Agdemnar.

It had, thanks to the positioning of its captain, become a somewhat popular stop on some outgoing trade routes from the larger tribes nearer to Bend-Serkeft. More transport ships had docked with the Stêgiri in the past year than any year before, even during the Great War, and what few local businesses existed were reaping the benefits. Everyone from the hydrogen mining crews to the food stand owners were doing the best business they had in years, and the shop of Miss Eşranû was no exception.

She was the (one and only) local gunsmith. Before the relocation she did more odd jobs than gunsmithing as few people on such a small ship really needed a gun, and if they did they rarely needed work done on it. Of course, with the ship closer to Agdemnar, she had started seeing a good few more customers in recent months.

At first they had just been Rangers whom were disgruntled to have to rely on some lady from a former rear-line ship for their rifle repairs, but after the ship and its inhabitants had settled in she found herself getting regulars. Rangers would often come in every so often to ask for a tune-up of their coilgun's computer systems, or a replacement for a burned-out capacitor array. She had even managed to offload her bloated stock of pistols she had made just before the Great War under the assumption that business would pick up as a result of the war. It is a testament to the isolation of the Stêgiri that it didn't.

One day, as the ship was collecting extra oxygen from a frozen wasteland of a world that was the closest thing to habitable in the system, one of her most recognizable customers walked in. Commander Skêssor, one of the Rangers assigned to Agdemnar. He was (theoretically) eighth in command of the entire operation on the planet, being the second in command of the fourth Ranger unit deployed planetside. To landers, of course, the idea of a Commander being deployed on the ground is perhaps an odd one. Even odder is the fact that Ranger units are referred to as "ships" even if there is no actual space vessel attached. Functionally Skêssor was more or less a Major. Usually leaning on the "less" side.

"Ah, Commander Skêssor!" Said Eşranû with a smile, "What can I do for you today? Lemme guess, rails need come fine tuning?"

"No, well, they might." Said the Commander, "I traded in my old rifle for this."

He set a coilgun down on the table. It wasn't the Vekrî arms one she usually saw him carrying, instead it was one bearing the markings of Guild Jist-a Qurtel tribe general supplies guild.

"I didn't even know the Jist Guild made coilguns, have they just started?"

"Yes," said the Commander with a frown, "and I think that perhaps they shouldn't have. It just doesn't shoot straight. The capacitors start limping three quarters or so of the way through a magazine too."

"Knowing Jist they probably didn't put much work into the capacitors, I'd bet you they're the same ones they put in all their other high-voltage electronics but with a few minor modifications. I'll see what I can do with 'em but I might have to just switch out the whole bank with some of mine."

"Whatever it takes. I do like the gun when I'm not shooting it though, it comes apart a hell of a lot easier than my old one. That's the main reason I bought it. Shame that getting taken apart is the only thing it seems to do well."

"Makes you wish that y'all could just adopt a gun and be done with it, the way the landers do."

"Y'know I hear they're trying to. The Bilnd-Sûmangişt organized some kind of arms exhibition, opened it up to all the manufactures that care to show. They say that the Civîneşra is going to pick some standard-issue arms from what the guilds show up with."

"Really?" Said Eşranû, her arms shivering a bit as her wing-stumps tried to jitter to show interest, "What guilds were invited? And who's 'they'?"

"No invites, they just posted the place and date on the net. I heard everything I'm telling you from the Captains down there with me. You know, come to think of it..."

He looked at her with a playful grin, scratching his chin as he left his sentence hang.

"Oh, please. Like the only gunsmith on some rear-line ship could win a competition like that."

"I don't know, miss, I know who'd get my vote for the sidearm."

He patted the pistol on his hip, one of the many that Eşranû had made before the Great War. She'd heard nothing but praise of them, their simple design made them, as Skêssor had once put it, "damn near indestructible".

She dismissed his compliment too, as she tended to do, and started stripping his gun to figure out just what was wrong with it. As she did so, though, she did start to daydream about what she would present to the Civîneşra. Just what would she make, if she could? What would the perfect weapon look like? What would she make it out of, would it be best to use a traditional fiberglass stock or one using more modern materials like nanotubes or graphene? What about a graphene coated stock? Would the Civîneşra be interested in a wooden stock, now that Bend-Serkeft was under Urdji control?

She chuckled a bit at the silly thoughts while she started to lay out the gun's pieces on her table. It was, as Skêssor had said, incredibly easy to disassemble. And, it seemed, rather easy to put back together. A pre-sapient primate could figure it out.

That's a good idea, she thought, shame it wasn't used on a better weapon...



Spîgûl, Personal Yacht of the Bilnd-Sûmangişt

The Spîgûl's shimmering white frame moved silently through space above Bend-Serkeft's lonely, barren moon. And it was indeed silent. Even within the craft, where one's ears would normally be assaulted by the din of atmospheric purifiers and circulation fans, there was so little noise that if one simply turned out the lights it could pass for a sensory deprivation chamber. And despite that silence, the Spîgûl was under acceleration.

Like all proper, traditional Urdji yachts it was first and foremost a solar sailer. Though it was equipped with a basic propulsion system, as were most in modern times, it was designed to be moved by nothing more than the wind of the stars. Grand sails unfolded themselves over and over again, stretching as thin sheets from the bow of the ship while the more solid maneuvering sails and radiator wings opened on the aft. Arlydlan looked out at the sails from his personal quarters aboard the yacht, which were separated from the vacuum of space only by a great window which stretched from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.

He loved the stars. To him they were the most beautiful thing in all of creation, unmatched in splendor by any other sight. The clouds of a gas giant, the peaceful and barren landscape of an airless moon, the sight of the shining lights of Liveship Qurtel set against the inky black of the void, none could even compare as far as he was concerned. Like many other Urdji he viewed them with almost religious reverence. They had been the first thing he had seen when he was born, they were the source of all energy and by extension all life in the universe which nourished him in life, and he knew that his death would come by their hands.

For all his efforts to drag the Mez-Jemivan into the modern era, when he looked out at the stars he always knew that he could never let them abandon their true home. He had heard, on numerous occasions, lander sailors describing how it felt when they first looked down on their homeworld. A sense of wonder, but also of insignificance. A feeling of joy, but also of sorrow. All shared the same story, the same confusingly profound mix of emotions, the overwhelming power of the sight. Perhaps, thought Arlydlan, he had the same experience when he gazed at the stars. They were, after all, the closest thing he had a to a homeworld.

When landers die, he thought, they return their energy to their world's land. When we die we return our energy to the stars.

Nothing more than an observation, at first. A simple tangent of a mesmerized mind. But he dwelt on that comparison as his yacht was slowly pushed out of orbit by a breeze of photons.

Their land cannot compare to the stars. The stars gave the land form, gifted the land with the energy which can nourish life. We return to the source of all energy, the landers return to merely the start of their little circle of energy. And who could fault them? Thousands of years ago we were the same, we knew nothing of the universe beyond our insignificant bubble of air. But we were forced to evolve, to become closer to the source of life.

On that, too, his mind dwelt. The insignificant bubbles of air which the landers seemed forever bound to, no matter how far towards the sky they stretched their arms. A thought entered his mind which shook his core, but he did not ignore it. He could not. To ignore a frightening thought would serve only to validate its every word.

Are our ships any different?

He found no answer. He was not sure what to feel about that. Angry? Sorrowful? Afraid? Perhaps even comforted, or content? It would have to wait for another time, though, as his meditation was interrupted by the hissing of the door to his quarters sliding open.

"Good evening, Xweste." He said, turning to face the woman as she entered. Unlike Arlydlan, she hadn't had her wings clipped. They were certainly handy for traversing the corridors of the Spîgûl, which only ever made use of its artificial gravity system for the benefit of foreign diplomats.

"Taking in the view were you, Biryar?" She asked.

"I feel a better term may be 'meditating'."

Xweste and Biryar, as she and few others knew him, went back as long as they could each remember. She had, on their home ship, been the daughter of one of the bridge crew. Though neither ever quite specified to anyone else how a boy from the outer decks and the daughter of the chief engineer had met in the first place it was well known that her connections with the ship's officers had given the young Arlydlan a way into the liveship's local ranger unit. He had returned the favor many times since the formation of the Third Mez-Jemivan and Xweste was now the "Captain of Bend-Serkeft", in practice a position akin to "colonial governor" or "viceroy".

She looked out the window at the stars and smiled, knowing just what he was talking about.

"I see," she said, "the Chinvat flows both ways."

"The Girigem is in orbit of Kavê-Hişk, and I have received word from Mûcîz that she is expected to give birth before they make another jump."

"I supposed as much. You are lucky, to have a nephew born from the light your father was returned to."

"Indeed. We are going to stop there on our way to Rolvius, I would like to be there at his birth if I can. Such good omens are rare."

"That'll add a fair bit of time to the trip."

"It will, but we have courier ships aboard if we must reach the Civîneşra on short notice. And our business with the Rolvians can wait for a short while, it is not as if your broad-strokes infrastructure project is particularly time-sensitive. And as I understand it you're simply trying to figure out how to manage the biosphere."

"Yes, that's all. There are a fair few examples in the galaxy of worlds being, well, killed off by industrial mismanagement. Or something, I really don't understand it which is why I want to go to the Rolvians."

"Well, anyhow, a short little stop won't put the biosphere of Bend-Serkeft into jeopardy I'm sure."

"Not at all. I do have just one request, though."

Arlyldan chuckled ever so slightly, already knowing what she would ask.

"You want to be there too, eh?"

"It would be an honor."

"I'm sure that Mûcîz would be happy to have you there. The birth of a child, especially one born under a good omen, would be a welcome escape from all of the exhausting political maneuvering we have been occupied with for so long. "



Agdemnar, Dereî Outpost

Dereî Outpost sat in solitude near the peak of one of Adgemnar's great mountains, surrounded by the rest of the range which acted as a convenient natural defense. Lacking any proper ground force, the Urdji had chosen to just try and stay as far out of the way as possible. And that particular mountain, which the outpost had been named for, had presented a unique opportunity. It was bisected by Point Jakurna's shield, which to the earliest exploratory ships sent to the planet looked like an easy way in. It wasn't long before they realized that the shield covered the entire point in a sphere, but the mountain was still a convenient way to hide their attempts to pierce the shield.

It was also a convenient way to hide the outpost's extensive sensor array which was listening in on whatever comms signals it could pick up.

The troops deployed to Dereî were, as of late, getting to be rather on edge thanks to that array. Hostilities seemed to be increasing across the planet, not to mention in orbit of it. A courier ship had been dispatched just a couple days ago to beg for reinforcements as it became increasingly clear that almost every other power had sent a proper invasion force while the Urdji had just dropped off some of their most experienced Rangers.

As a result of their fears, the Urdji had started to construct numerous new defenses around Dereî. Gun emplacements, trenches, bunkers, anything they could think of to give them at least a fighting chance were a hostile power to attack. A number of Xegîn class corvettes which had been deployed for in-atmosphere support fire had been permanently landed in hastily built drydocks on the side of the mountain, their shield bubbles being extended to cover the entire outpost.

Even amidst this, however, one of the units deployed to Dereî was still going about its usual business. Deep within the mountain base, one ensign was trying his damnedest to flap his wings against the constant assault of a wind tunnel's fan. A distressed cry from the ensign for "Rashnu's mercy" quickly brought an end to the fan's motion, and the ensign fell limp and exhausted as he hung from his harness.

"Ensign Neçirva? Are you alright?" Called a wingless doctor as he dropped a clipboard to a table.

"I'm... fine, I think I just-" Neçirva yelped as he tried to move his left wing, "No, I'm not alright, there's somethin' wrong there."

The wind tunnel's cargo door was opened, and Neçirva was slowly lowered to the grating covering the fan by his harness. He just laid there on his belly, moaning in pain, until the doctor got to him.

"Agh, oh that hurts. Shit. Please tell it looks fine, Doc."

The man leaned in closer to get a look at the wing and promptly yelled.

"Medic! Get a stretcher over here!"

"Fuck."

"Don't worry, it's not too bad. It's just a mild dislocation."

"A 'mild dislocation' of a wing? There's no such thi- Gah! I'll be bedridden for days!"

"Look, it'll heal and that's the important part. But I'm starting to have my doubts here..."

"No! It- ow! It'll work... just... gotta get the angle right."

"Fair enough. If your wings heals properly then we'll keep trying. This whole idea is crazy to begin with though, our wings just aren't meant to take that much stress."

Neçirva turned his head as far as he could without moving his wing muscles and looked the doctor in the eyes with determination which, the doctor assumed, only he could possibly muster given the circumstances.

"Like hell they ain't! It's just terminal velocity, we can glide down from that!"

"Can you glide down from terminal velocity after a dozen minutes of freefall, and reentry, and any number of things that might go wrong there?"

"I don't know, but I sure as hell intend to find ouuuu-AAH! Medic, couldn't you at least hit me with some painkillers before you manhandle my wing like that?"

Command Lair Volisk
Agdemnar

“How many today?”

“Three. A quick-print Brood icon in the third hall, a couple of Harvester sign paints in the corridors on the other side, and this.”

With a flick of his ramified tongue, Thraas switched on a lateral monitor on the large mound of machinery that filled the center of the wide, squat domed room. Its even electronic glow cast bluish shadows on the smooth cemented walls as the three skirol leaned in, amid the clanking of their motor vehicles’ mechanical limbs, to get a better look at the cramped display. The jagged characters of Srynn Universal on it assembled into rather dry and formal-looking stylistic spirals, but the semantic clusters that formed them were bombastically fanciful as only propaganda pieces could be.

Fellows in superior genesis! We approach a new age of wealth. The old hand that closed around our throats is dead and we eat its remains. Its shields will not stop us, nor will the lesser scavengers that flock to it defeat us. We are born the devourers of life and carrion, and we abide no equals in our domain. Let the feeble prey-things that walk upright break themselves against our jaws of stone! Death waits for them on this world, and triumph for us. We will prevail. We will consume. We will harvest.

But the greatest threat to our supremacy is not from outside. The cowering reactionaries who call themselves your leaders refuse to see the potential of the bounty that lies before us. They would use it just as another weapon. Another tool on the field where our kind must abase themselves before scum that would not last an hour on Vesereth. The brave among us say no! Enough!

No more politics! No more crawling before weak prey-things! The brightest minds of the cycle are with us. We will take the power from the corpses of the Ashtar and no one will have strength to stop us. The universe will be remade in the image of its rightful masters. Come with us, and you will rule over suns beyond counting.

We are the Genome Harvesters. We are the one future.

Veissk folded the pale flaccid skin over his eyes, closing them away from the rambling drivel on the screen. This was the kind of thing that brazenly circulated over the lair communication network under his command. To think that everything had been so quiet at the start. Every member of the expedition had gone through extensive vetting, or at least so he had been told, and he had been assured by the ranks on Vesereth that his officially rogue force did not have anything to fear from the flocks of rumours that surrounded it long before launch. And yet here he was, staring at something out of an espionage pherofilm.

The distant, regular rhythm of the artillery batteries aboveground pushed him out of his moment of lethargy.

His lateral eyes glanced over Thraas, the head of surveillance attached to the expedition to contain just this sort of trouble, who was twisting more buttons on the hub, and Cyret, his lead technician, who nervously ran her tongue back and forth over the edge of her cockpit. As if things were not bad enough, that was it. Those two were the whole of his command anrak. Good people, for sure, but so very few, enough for neither a good command or a good trezklin. This was a sensitive mission, they had said on Vesereth, they had taken precautions, but it was better to limit risks. Taking his trezklin was out of the question, and they could not make the anrak too big. He understood that, but three?

“What do you make of it?” Thraas was asking, evidently done with the hub. Veissk’s left mandible twitched with mild annoyance. Who was supposed to be the expert here, he or them?

Cyret seemingly felt the same way, as her tone had a small edge to it when she replied “What do you think? Some radical fasthead’s ranting. You don’t have to tell us we’ve got a clutch here.”

“That’s the thing.” Thraas leaned back in his cabin. “How many times have you two dealt with the Harvesters?”

Bundles of Veissk’s nerves pulsed under his skin as he remembered. “Once when I was on border duty and they’d been harassing Jalaryias again. Never actually saw one of them, but they made a ragged mess that time.”

“Haven’t seen them either,” Cyret assented, “Just ran through some hardware that got taken from them in a raid. Dangerous stuff, I told you that other time.”

“Right.” Thraas’ head bobbed downward. “And how often have you seen them send out stuff like this?”

“I haven’t, they weren’t recruiting-” Veissk began, but his anrak-brother cut him off.

“Even if they’d been, you wouldn’t have known. The Harvesters don’t work like that. They’re professionals, much as you and me. They don’t need this kind of trash to tell them what to do, when they’re on an op, they already know everything. Running their jaws would just risk blowing their cover, and they know what it’s worth.” He lashed his tongue at the writing on the screen. “This doesn’t look like them a bit. Maybe the Brood or Omniphage or some other religious crackcoil, or our friends in the Pure Circuit, but Harvesters sure as teeth don’t sign their messages.”

There was a brief silence, punctuated by the dull thumping of artillery.

“And what does this mean?” Veissk finally spoke up.

“Either this and the signs are a plant and it’s really the Brood that’s at work here,” Thraas replied, “but you know that can’t be it. Or else the Harvesters are so confident they’ve brought in preachers.”

“So confident…” Cyret repeated half-silently as if distracted by a calculation in her mind, “How many are there around us?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ll run a deeper background scan than what I’ve got now for everyone, but I need Veissk here to give me clearance for that. I can also try to trace this present they’ve left us, but I can’t guarantee anything there.”

“You’ve got it. Do what you can.” Alarming as it was, Veissk was just eager to get this business out of the way for the moment. “Cyret, you’d said you had something about that transmission?”

“Cracked it.” Cyret bit the air with a satisfied expression. “The code was a basic one, the message a standard hail. Whoever sent it was taking no chances with misunderstandings.”

“So we still don’t know who it is.”

A tongue-whipping of denial. “Completely new signature. Haven’t got any matches with wartime records. I got them a first contact data pack - had to update some pieces there. Nobody I know has sent one of those for a long time now.”

She tapped something inside her cockpit, and one of the screens before them flickered to a looping string of ”welcome - welcome - welcome - welcome - welcome - welcome”, while the one next to it began coursing through columns of encoded language.

Veissk snapped his jaws impatiently. He was no specialist. “You’re clear to send it. If it comes to the worst, we’ll let orbital handle it.”

“Speaking of orbital…” Thraas pointed at a steadily burning red light near the top of the hub. “I think communications’s been waiting on our line for a while now.”

With an irritated gnash, Veissk flicked the comm channel on. What did they want now? The next push against enemy positions was due in four lesser cycles, he still had no idea of what troop readiness was like, and the Harvester markings were not a good sign. “What?”

“Fold Warleader One, we have an oddity.” The comm overseer’s voice was indistinct without the pheromone signals backing it. Downsides of remote technology. “Unscheduled drop from orbit. They must’ve taken advantage of the skirmish up there to get close enough. Looks like a tactical transport unit, but we can’t be sure.”

Just what they needed. More complications. “What do you mean, can’t be sure?”

“They’re not responding to hails. Their trajectory’s too far for visual contact.”

Now as grim as the dull metallic chassis of his vehicle, Veissk pulled a small lever near the hub’s top. A loosely set projector crackled, and a rough holographic schema of the surface in a wide radius around the command lair sprang into being over the mound of machinery. Key locations gently pulsed as purple sphericles caught in the bright blue mesh; the inbound transport’s projected path cut a broad red arc overhead, burying itself in one of the lightly breathing purple points.

Veissk gaped. “That’s where the Asrians set up camp,” he hissed to one in particular, “we’re not supposed to hit that until we know for sure what they’ve got there.”

He looked at both his anrak-siblings in turn with consternation, and was met with equally lost stares. The only thing they were almost sure about was that the blame for something or the other was going to eventually fall on their heads.

Administrative Hub 409
Traysk Centre, Isvest
Vesereth

...said actions on the parts of major powers like the aforementioned present a clear threat to the integrity of the Treaty of Madrigasa and the terms thereof. The implications of this for the preservation and balance of galactic peace are evident. It is therefore the duty of any sincere adherent of the Treaty, and more so any sincere proponent of peace and stability, to formulate a reaction to the aforedescribed infractions, irrespective of whether they are legally sanctioned by their respective governing bodies. The preservation of peace and balance takes precedence over recognition for a nation’s ability to follow its laws, as well as, regrettably, the original unaltered word of the Treaty proper.

The Joint Commissions of the Harmonic Conflux of the Innumerate Suns, with the approbation and support of their constituent authorities, have thus reached an agreement regarding the emendation of the Exegetic Corpus of the Treaty’s terms. In accordance with this motion, several points of the disarmament conditions will be subject to revision in the near future. A committee is being formed with the task of ensuring that these revisions are conducive to the further preservation of a stable and balanced state of forces within the galaxy. The most salient excerpts eligible for emendation include…

Skenyrr slumped back in her walker, letting her eyes drift away from the tightly regimented letters on the workstation display. The text was obviously written as a declaration to the international arena - the awkward, stilted language and rigid stylistic lines were designed for easy translation - but circumstances dictated that it be framed as a news article, and thus written in Srynn, however bad, for authenticity’s sake. Nobody in the Suns was going to learn anything new from that, of course. The local media had already come up with thousands of clearer ways to say the Commissions were rewriting the Treaty so that they, and only they, could have dreadnoughts and new warships to supposedly counter threats to galactic peace.

Politics, however, called for a show. Skenyrr never did understand, as many skirol did with her, how other polities managed to have one person or small group representing them who could make announcements to the whole galaxy. Something like that might have been possible for pre-space primitives with countries of a few hundred million at best, but when a government stretched over suns on suns, it was absurd. No single thousand beings could possibly be a reliable mouth for the whole system, let alone the one making a speech at a single moment.

And so it was that the Conflux had no real face to show to the galactic community, only an enormous, shapeless mass. Communications were never signed with a name, and proclamations were done this way, as if through incidental news pieces. It really did make much more sense that way.

The skirol glanced over the wide white-plastered hall, brightly lit by several large windows high above anyone’s head. Before her, the brightly chromed bodywork and softly curving pale backs of her family sat before their own stations, checking the day’s news or already tapping away at some diplomatic dispatch. The work was not as glamorous as that of the people making the actual decisions some floors higher, but someone had to organise their disjointed notes into something presentable for foreign governments, and she had never minded the living it afforded them.

Wincing a couple of eyes, she was able to see Inoksh, her second-mate, waving at her with his tongue from across the chamber. She waved back and sank down to the level of her display, flicking the monotonous flow of the declaration away from it. Her neighbour, her clutch-aunt Vnissrin, was already at work, and tossed her some document over the connector fibre with a light tap.

“Message from Rolvius,” she nodded at the notification symbol lighting up on Skenyrr’s monitor, “Already cleared to answer. They had to split it up between Trade and Distribution and the emigration people. Check the first part, it’s better than yesterday’s comedy.”

Skenyrr opened the letter with a tap, and her jaws gaped wider and wider open ash she read.



“...They want the Maw closed?” she was finding it more difficult by the moment to hold back a spray of hilarity pheromones strong enough to cover the whole room. “Because they saw something on the news? Srin, is this a joke? Tell me you wrote it.”

Vnissrin whipped her tongue. “Wish I did, but it’s real. You’re our expert in letting prey-things down, go and bite them hard.”

“You got it.” Try as she might, she could not suppress a chuckle of a spurt. “So, what’s the verdict? I’m guessing telling Lisrak to deal with it isn’t the solution?”

“Not that easy. They’re already antsy about Theniax muscling them out on the Maw’s profits, so we at least try to throw them a bone or they’ll give us all the headache of the rotation. I tagged the administrators’ orders with the thing.”

There were indeed a couple of laconic notes attached to different sections of the letter - “denied, seek alternative; admin. 7” for the first and “not authorized, prepare inspection; admin. 31” for the second. With an exhilarated breath, Skenyrr began to tap out a response.



She let her tongue rest for a moment and glanced at Vnissrin. “I’m not sure about these smaller dealers they’re writing about. You think we should get Lisrak a backup supplier in case it doesn’t work out with them? Maybe send a suggestion upwards?”

“Already thought of. There’s a message to the Lokoid queued after yours, this one by courier. They had me prepare the ground a bit, have a look.”

Another notification flashed to life on the display.



Skenyyr clicked her jaws in amazement. “That’s as good as offering a military pact. You think things really are bad enough to start thinking that way?”

Her clutch-aunt wobbled indecisively. “You’ve seen the news, they’re bringing out the guns again. Maybe it’s still going to be nothing, but don’t quote me on that.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough quoting for the morning.” She let the gelatinous sides of her bulk lightly slide down the flanks of her cabin, in a half-studied way by reflex. Vnissrin did not really care about her showing off her girth, but she had gotten into the habit since meeting Inoksh. Speaking of which. “Few of us are going out for comm-feeding this noon, there’s a new place past the river we haven’t been yet. You coming too?”

“Count me in as long as it’s not Lokoid. I wouldn’t want to starve the poor hatchlings on Giaxil.”

The gentle wafts of their laughter drifted over the rows of clerks. A few joined in on the missed joke with a cautious puff. Srynokk shone brightly overhead.

--=AIS Plainsight, Equatorial Free Region, Bastion, Bastion.

AIS Plainsight was named entirely in the dumbest way possible but no doubt the most accurate, it was simply an AIS Installation in plain sight, after all. Even though Bastion was the nexus of the military, it still held areas of beauty, and whilst general tourist traffic was not exactly as high as say, Tyralene or New Vegas, it was still a planet with a diversified economy - Bastion still had bills to pay, after all. That said, the overwhelming number of visitors to the equatorial tropical regions tended to be military on leave, but posing as a tourist was one of the the easiest ways to begin going incognito on Bastion, so Plainsight had been built. Most of it operated as a tourist resort, but it had so much behind and below it that even people in the know weren't quite sure how big it was.

It was also currently rotating as the planetary side HQ for this half of the year, considering some genius had come up with the idea of rotating senior authority of the AIS through different installations planet side for a few years - it half smelled of a trap to draw the curious out, but one could never really know.

That was the game after all.

C3 didn't think about it all too much, to most with the clearance, they were still just a number, and to everyone else they were long dead and buried. Here, at least, they could fake some relaxation, though truth be told, they might start enjoying it, probably around the time they had to decamp again. Ha.. truth be told.

They shook their head, and turned their attention back to winding up today's work. They'd signed off on all the collated reports from around the known galaxy for this quarter, as well as prepared a dozen of their own with appropriate addenda for everything that was known as of, well, an hour ago. This would be going to the Chancellor, for sure, High Command, disseminated amongst fellow C's and a few others, and would no doubt trickle down in some form to just a few more, it was hard work for just a few people to ever see, but it had to be done, and they'd never stop doing it as long as the Federation called for it.

They'd even prepared a comprehensive Agdemnar report. At this point, they were relatively certain they had a considerable section of the deployable Pharos assets in system, yet for what purpose was not yet for them to know, everyone only had a piece of the puzzle, though no doubt it would all come together soon. They couldn't hide that many active stealth ships for much longer, that much was known.

Other, trivial matters, at least to C3's own mind were also attended to, and so they began to transmit. Data left in seconds, and wheels began to turn again.

Truth be told, the game never stopped.


--=FMIS Triumph, Outer Asteroid Belt, Bastion.

While Galatis Station was the true orbital headquarters of the Unified Navy of Nations, Triumph was often used by the Admiralty to meet and discuss in unofficial capacities, as well as conduct business between each other that High Command didn't strictly disapprove of but often needed to distance itself from. The Starbase Triumph was close enough, yet well obstructed enough to serve that purpose, and was more than outfitted enough to suit the Admiralty from Rear to Grand and sometimes even High.

However, there was to be no somewhat off the books business, and certainly no unofficial meetings of Admirals of any stripe. High Admiral Cassius Rochester had had quite enough of that for this moment, thank you very much. He had gotten answers, of a sort, from Intelligence - and the Foreign and Defense Ministries had already begun their machinations for the new era, and yet, for all being at the top of High Command meant, his own subordinates were being too much like Intelligence for his own liking. He was one of three of the Triumvirate - the High Admirals who sat on the High Command with other representatives of the armed forces, and sometimes it felt like he didn't even know what anyone was doing.

Rounding a corner, his silent but dutiful aide keeping a respectful distance and appearing once again a moment later. He almost couldn't tell that the latest android model was anything other than human. Almost, though he did admit to himself that it had taken a few days of conversation for it to be truly apparent. Yes, by all means, they could think, to some extent feel and express the correct emotional responses, but it was programmed, and eventually, you noticed it. That said, they were invaluable - a human could eventually be broken. Any android assistants assigned to the military deleted their memory cores the moment they got too far from their charges, or upon any order, coded or otherwise, delivered electronically or audibly. That he could talk classified matters with at least one entity at nearly all times had done him good, that much he knew.

He didn't slow down as he remotely keyed open the conference room doors for the Triumph's main conference room. He knew there would be two occupants, and he had been here himself before, so he took no time to appreciate the view or acknowledge the two present, simply taking the seat at the head of the table - neither present possessing the rank and thankfully the violation of protocol to of done so themselves. He watched their faces as they looked at him, he had not been expected. Good. He took a moment to get comfortable, then began to speak.

"Admiral Piazza, Vice Admiral Laurent, you both have some explaining to do, don't you think?"

Martina Piazza looked at Cassius, raising an eyebrow. For a moment, she lingered, then turned to her counterpart.

"It is as you say, High Admiral, though I would have to inquire as to what specific matter you are referring to?" Francois Laurent said, his earther french accent thick. He was speaking Standard English, so ever prevalent automatic translation had done nothing to ease that.

"Well, Francois, I would very much like to know why we have deployed a considerable portion of Pharos assets to Agdemnar far beyond the official order of, and I stress, one escort. Though of course, I did perhaps give you the implication of much freedom in my personal communications with you regarding the subject, I would very much like to know, when the Chancellor inquires, as to why one has become, I believe, thirteen." Cassius asked, he had of course not let even the tiniest bit of respect for getting so many stealth ships into the system in just a few resupply runs for the Hermione come into it, but it was there, in the back of his mind.

"The Hermione's safety is of course, of paramount concern - and the AIS convinced the Ministry of Defence to upgrade Agdemnar information gathering priorities to a scope that could not be accomplished by the Hermione, respectfully, at all, let alone with a singular Pharos, High Admiral. Regretfully, as per protocol, plausible deniability was key and I acted unilaterally in this regard." Francois responded, simply, matter of factly.

"That may very well be the case, however, in the future, all deployments of critical assets to the Unified Navy, which the Pharos programme is very much part of, are not to be taken unilaterally, at least one of the Triumvirate is to be informed at all times so that way we may all be informed and, more importantly, I do not have to cram myself into a stealth shuttle to come and berate one of my better Intelligence liasing Admiralty Members in person, and that is very much an order. Am I clear?"

Francois nodded "Yes, High Admiral."

He turned his focus to Martina.

"And of course, you are to immediately explain to me a very simple matter, Where in the heavens is the 12th Fleet?" He asked, letting a small amount of exasperation come forth.

"The 12th Fleet is currently on location or en route to a rendezvous point of my choosing, High Admiral, as you know we recently received clearance to conduct deep space war games near the main trade routes towards Rolvian territory - as we know they would not view such a thing as threatening if they detected it prior to them being fully informed, as well as given the 12th Fleets requirement to react to incursions in that area." She said, almost convincingly.

"Admiral Piazza, You know full well that the 12th Fleet is nowhere near the Rolvian routes, though given latest reports, I would very much like it to be. That is also an order, from the entire Triumvirate." He avoided that Agdenmar could wait ending for that sentence. High Admiral Lieng had taken long enough to let him in on that plan - and he and the Chancellor had both decided it was too early. Lieng of course couldn't recall Piazza personally, and Cassius had had to wait until she met with Laurent.

Martina nodded knowingly. "The 12th Fleet will be in position within three days, High Admiral. War games will commence shortly after, of course."

"Hold off on the war games, Admiral, there's an intelligence packet waiting for you on your Command Ship from my staff, you'll understand why. Maybe you could have a little.. chat with the Vice Admiral here about getting more intelligence, if it so suits you." Cassius responded. With that, he rose - this was, after all, still off the books, so neither of them were required nor wanted to observe protocol, and remained seated, both simply inclining their heads.

With that, he departed.

--=Office of the Chancellor, Courelene, Horizon, Tau Ceti.

Alanna had done something that no recent Chancellor had done and secured a full council assent for a foreign policy matter, and it had been exhausting. She had received information and had to act on it, and everyone had been consistently convinced or so believed that the Treaty had been so harmful to whatever interest group that they were serving that they ready to tear it up even without good cause. Yet they had still required hours of debate, discussion and nearly outright argument.

She had wanted to rest and consider, for a moment, before making fact what had been made law a few hours ago, though she knew that the Foreign Ministry would have just about finished informing all its ambassadors just about now, and she would have to inform the Assembly and the nation soon.

She read the last reports as they came in, and signed off on a thing or two here and there.

There was, however, one small matter to attend to before she faced the podium.



"Are you sure offering them what amounts to a unilateral guarantee of independence right after putting a fleet basically so close they could take observatory photos of it is the best idea?" Mikhail asked, quietly intruding into Alanna's pondering silence.

She hit send.

"The Rolvian's won't see this as an opportunity to do something stupid without consequence, and I haven't signed a treaty, I won't unless they ask for one. At the end of it all, they aren't going to start a war, but somebody will start one with them. You know they will sooner or later. And you know what? I'm not content to watch them die whilst we ferry around the survivors this time." She responded, daring Mikhail to contest her.

"Ever the optimist." He smiled back.

"And damnit Mikhail, stop remote accessing my station!"

----------

The Podium was for the Chancellor, the Deputy Chancellor, or the Speaker of the Assembly to address the entire hall. Normally, the Speaker held it during sessions, to hold order, deliver and address protocol, and all other matters such as that. When the Chancellor took it, as she did now, it was to make a statement, a speech, or to confirm that the Referenda had called for war.

It was thankfully, not the latter.

She wasn't quite sure it was good enough to be the second. It was a statement, and that was that. Half the Assembly already knew. Too many eyes and ears in the Foreign Ministry - but they hadn't told the Media - and the Media would tell everyone else in the Federation, perhaps beyond, if the Foreign Ministry didn't work fast enough.

"I stand before the Assembly to deliver a statement regarding a legally binding decision reached by the Federal Council regarding the Foreign Policy of the Federation of Nations at this current time."

Some of those not in the know groaned, some mumbled. This was usually boring formality.

"The Council has reached full assent on this subject, and as such, the Assembly must follow without contest, and may not call for legal challenge."

Nearly all of those not in the know now focused entirely on her. No Federal Council had ever made a decision in full assent in nearly thirty years.

"As of 15:00 Horizon Central Standard Time, The Federation of Nations, with all of its constituent member states, colony worlds and territories, officially and unilaterally withdraw from the Treaty of Madrigasa, commonly known as the Treaty of Detente."

Some gasps of shock - Silence from the Pacifist and aligned blocs, though a few were nodding - they knew the treaty was dying, and they'd soon have the rest of them in line. Good, she needed their support. Then the applause started, though it only lasted a few seconds - she had not left the podium.

"As your Chancellor, I receive information I must act upon in the best interests of us all, for the Federation and the community of nations it represents. As some of you may know, or come to know, the Treaty has come to lose meaning. It was only a matter of time before another would sound its coming end, and this has come to pass. As Chancellor, I listened to the talented people of the Federal Council, our advisors, our ministries and the brave, loyal guardians of our military. There was only one option - we had to withdraw, or we would not be able to protect our grand democracy and all it stands for from those who do not care for peace, for stability, for prosperity. These are three things I promised to uphold in my oath, and in my campaign for the highest office. I also championed fairness, and it most certainly would not be fair for me to limit our stalwart military to the obligations of a treaty no longer followed by those who could someday come to threaten us."

Applause. She let it continue, but she had not yet left, so it died back down.

"It is my vow that I will continue to stand for this Federation, as we all do. Let our clarion call for peace go out - but let us not be blind to the fact peace must often be, ironically, fought for. We will not stand aside as we once did, content to protect those most at risk but never acting truly in their defence when it matters. The Federation was born out of an ideal of peace for humanity, and by our hard work we have achieved it for many of us. Yet, we are not alone, is only humankind deserving of peace? A foolish question, most assuredly, so we must gird ourselves for action on the behalf of those who are not as fortunate as us, to prepare to protect all whom are requiring of it. That is what the Federation is for, and we shall carry that with us into the stars with dove or sword. Unum Liberum."

She stood back from the podium, the applause began again, and she began to walk back into the shadows, away from the Assembly. A voice entered her ear through her earpiece. Mikhail, as always.

"You wont get any more trouble from the rest of the industrialists, they know the Sanctuary Overhaul program is just the beginning - and uh, and i think you just won the Warhawks, I didn't think that was in the plan." He said. She didn't know where he was, but he was good at gauging these things, that's why she'd hired him, and he wasn't cheap.

"Next time I'll throw in a few terms from the old dialectic, might give me some peace from the Vegan faction then."

They both chuckled.

Nautilian sat in his chair in the darkened room. He was watching a holographic image of his wife, holding his young son, who was barely 1 year old. “-and little Arlius here used psionics for the first time.” The woman in the picture said as she looked with proud eyes at her son. “He levitated some blocks. They were very light and small, but he did levitate them.” She said as she tickled him. The child let out a laugh that melted Nautilian but pierced his heart as well. “Anyway, I’ve spoken with your brother-“ That surprised Nautilian. “-and he told me you will be relieved in six months. Sooner, if Olliana manages to close a deal with the Rolvians.” There was a sense of melancholy in her voice. “He says he wants you on Manir then.” That explained why his older brother wanted him off Adgemnar. He still thought of Nautilian as only a scholar. Not an entirely unjust consideration but Nautilian did wish he would be known as something else. The woman, Nimueh, was quiet for a moment. As if she was gathering the strength to speak the next words. “I want you home, Nautilian. Arlius needs you home. Adgemnar is not safe. Please, come home.” The hologram cut out, leaving Nautilian alone in the dark.

Was it selfish that he shared her desire to be home? Perhaps. He was a prince, he had a duty to his people. In his younger years, he would’ve done anything to go to Manir. The cursed and fabled planet. But when you’re young you’re allowed to be reckless and impulsive. Now he had a child and he had different duties as well. He got up and stood in the holographic circle. With a few tabs on his wrist-mounted controller, he bid the holographic recorders to link up with the audio system in his suit. For a second he closed his eyes, trying to conjure up Nimueh standing before him.

“My love. I promise you that I will be safe. We are at a science outpost. We pose no threat to anyone from here. I know you want me back and I understand. Just wait for me. I will-“ His recording got cut when the ground quacked beneath him. He could hear an explosion erupting. He ran outside to see what was happening but was greeted by pandemonium. His commanders were jumped. The perimeter was already getting tested. The artillery Thralls were lobbing superheated plasma through the sky in an attempt to destroy the enemy but there were too many. Great trails of flame painted the sky as the metal pods came down. Soon blue light of the Asrian anti-aerial guns streaked across the sky as well. A thunder cracked through the air as strange colored lightning shot upwards. Destroyed pods fell down from the heavens in a rain of fire, metal and burned flesh. Still, there were far more pods than the Asrians could handle.

“Sir, we are under attack. What are our orders?” the High Commander asked, but Nautilian needed a minute to take the situation in.

After the third explosion rippled across the battlefield did he finally speak: “Take the shuttles. Evacuate the scientists first. Then military personnel. Burn every bit of data you can't secure and request a purge on our location.” The High Commander nodded and moved on, barking orders and pushing pilots towards the shuttles. Nautilian himself ran towards a console and begin uploading the data they had gathered onto his suit.

Right then a hostile walker broke through the perimeter and shot an Artillery Thrall to pieces. It soon aimed its weapon at one of the crippled scientists, laying on the floor with his foot broken by rocks. He tried to push them off with telekinesis. A slow process that was not aided by the panic of imminent destruction. Nautilian reached out with his hand. Invisible force clamped around the walker’s gun and pushed it away. The shots missed, the rock moved and the scientist was free. “Get out of here. Head for the shuttle!” Nautilian yelled as he still held the walker’s weapon up. But the other arm turned around and took aim at Nautilian. Who was quick to psionically grab it as well. With as much force as he could muster, he pushed it back before he de-activated the seal of the runes on his arm. Though those took a moment to power up and a second walker joined the first. Nautilian pushed his gun turn towards the first walker right before it shot. Projectiles had no allegiance and the fire ripped through its brother. Before Nautilian grabbed the second’s chest and crushed it with both hands. The telekinetic forces squeezed the metal as hard as it could. The prince only stopped when he saw liquid pouring out of the carcass. The walker dropped down dead.

But the breach was there and infantry began pouring through the gap. Sadly for them, the Runic modules on Nautilian’s arm finally came to life with arches of lightning.



The Asrian outpost was a wasteland. Fires raged and broken Thralls were everywhere. To Nautilian’s dismay, he could see the blood of his kin mixed in as well. The last few shuttles were taking off. So far almost all shuttles made it to safety in space. Where an Eternity-Class was rapidly approaching to pick them up and purge the location. Almost but not all. One shuttle was now smoldering wreckage on its landing pad. A painful memory of Nautilian who failed to protect it. Thirty Asrians onboard, mostly scientists, paid the price.

For a moment it was calm, or calmer than it should be during a battle. The enemy was possibly grouping up for a second way. Nautilian then realized the recording of the suit was only paused. He activated it again. There would be no hologram. No images of his ashen face, broken left arm or the bloodmud clinging to his legs. But there was pain in his voice. “Nimueh. I’m sorry. I made you a widow but please, make sure Arlius doesn’t suffer a bitter life. Tell him that I love him. That I will always love him. Tell him that the sky is beautiful and the grass is soft because it is meant to be that way. Tell him the stars glitter at night because they are supposed to. Please, make sure he is not angry at the galaxy. Make sure that his fire burns for peace, for knowledge or beauty. Not for carnage and slaughter.”

“And to you my love. Forgive me for all the mistakes I have made. For the choices I made. I love you. I will always love you but what I will do now, I do not as a father or a husband but as a Prince of Asra.” He cut the recording as the second to last shuttle took off. Wordless he commanded his suit to transmit his recording onto the ship together with the last bit of data he still on his suit.

The last shuttle still needed the last drops of fuel to make it to space. A few more minutes it needed and Nautilian would give it that. A new row of bombs and shell landed around him. Dust and smoke billowed up. Through the ground he could feel the rythmic movement of the enemy walkers, joined with a chaotic chorus of smaller steps. They were coming.

A bloodied Nautilian pulled himself up with a pole. His left leg could no longer bear his weight. It was bloodied and broken but the Prince felt nothing. Nothing but power as he tapped into the last bit he had inside of him. Lightning surged around him and the pole. From the cloud of dust lightning once more sparked. Burning and killing whoever came too close. Thunder still ripped through the air. "Do not think I will go gently to my grave!" Nautilian yelled at his enemy as he flung three Acolytes through the dust and air. "I am a Prince of Asra!"



From orbit captain Sumri of House Alroy watched as she saw lightning cracked across the screen. The main screen on the bridge showed a detailed image of the ground below from orbit. Right now it showed the warzone that was the former scientific outpost. Wrecks of walkers, blobs of flesh, ash, and mud mixed together in an almost artful painting. Hershina would remember how it looked later today when she could retire to her own chambers. Amid that swirling, almost tranquil beauty there was one thing standing in stark defiance of the destruction around him. Nautilian. His great arcs of lightning sundered the enemy, but he was weakening. The last of the shuttles were inbound now. Secretly Sumri wished the Prince would die before they got here. She would not kill her own prince. Not even if the order came from him directly. Finally, right before the last shuttle had arrived, did Nautilian’s arcs stop. A vile and monstrous creature step forward as the gunfire stopped. Streaks of blood could already be seen behind Nautilian from the top-down view. Sumri guessed he would be hit at least two times. But his upright position showed he was still standing. Not for long though. The thing pushed its clawed arm through him. A great stroke of blood appeared on the ground behind him. A moment later and Nautilian, Second Prince of Asra, fell down and died.

An audible gasp echoed through the bridge. Captain Sumri kept the console with the last shuttle in the corner of her eye. It was safe. “Fire.” She said, softly but much to the surprise of her gun master. “Captain… Prince Nautilian’s body. We must-“

“Unobtainable. Fire the Deliverance beams. We must honor the prince’s last command.” She was icy, as always. She had to be. Though inside her stomach turned into a heavy knot.

The gun master was still shaken but passed the order through. A moment later four bright beams of blue light crashed down upon the land below. the first hit reduced everything to molten slag. A shockwave destroyed the last of the make-shift housing that was already ruined. A moment later and a firestorm rippled from the mountain observation post. Incinerating everything. Nautilian was reduced to ash. Anything useful was purged and destroyed in the following attacks. Then the Battleship left the orbit once more.

Minister Roalesk Ran had once had to organize a wedding with twelve days notice. His daughter was betrothed in a love match and her other half was due to ship out with the Rolvian Navy to join in the reconstruction efforts on one of the outer moons of Yeral II. A major Corporate Alliance Speaker's daughter did not merely elope without any sort of fanfare- it reflected poorly on the family name and bank accounts. The caterers, the booking, the music, the entertainment, the guest accomodations and the reporter pools nearly drove him into a nervous breakdown, even with three assistants at his beck and call.

Organizing the largest impromptu diplomatic summit since the Treaty of Detente was signed with barely five hours notice was significantly easier, he found. Especially when one had the backing of the Military to make people get out of the way.

Two brigades of "Peacers" with Uulaka mounts, and a considerable number of Green Agents had descended on the Overlook Resort within three hours in a frantic invasion. Fortunately the resort was in its slow season, so only a dozen individuals had to be ejected off the premises, but the staff was being checked, re-checked, and in some cases of politically questionable opinions, given the boot to be replaced with Army staff.

As Minister of Trade, Roalesk had plenty of business dealing with facts, figures, and foreign star nations. There was no "Minister of Foreign Affairs" or similar position. Not yet, at least. Rolvians had enjoyed being shielded by the Ashtar and allowed to grow to their own fruition. But now, he was being asked to fill that role more and more. And he wasn't sure if he was ready.

Case in point, the Overlook Lodge had many amenities for rich, foreign tourists coming to hunt exotic game or recover from Rolvian medical operations and gene treatments. Spa. Highly rated restaurants. Pool (both indoor and an open lake). Hot springs. Even a craft workshop for those who found working with wood and leather to be a fun diversion. What it lacked- still- was a formal landing pad.

Oh, it had a landing zone. There was a formcrete tower with secure com systems. But the actual landing zone was a cut field with marker lights. It lent something to the rustic charm of the place, but by the Gaea it looked backwards as Hells for a diplomatic summit.

His Uulaka's four eyes were fixed on a herd of Chalratha off to the west of the landing field, grazing lazily while their matriarch's long neck was extended, watching the guards and the docile Uulaka mounts they rode. Uulaka were gengineered to be docile in the presence of their riders and other Rolvians, to obey commands. But out in the wild, four eyes, claws, and venom would reduce a two-ton Chalratha to so much mincemeat in a matter of time.

Wouldn't that be a show for one of the arrivals? Of course we're a great and strong Star Nation! We would like to speak to you about matters of intergalactic peace and security. Right this way! Please mind the corpse though...

Well, let's see who I have to entertain first. The sooner Vannifar gets here, the better.

---

The Executive Branch Bough
Rolvius
22:34 Since Foreign Fleet Arrival in Rolvian Space

Vannifar stood at her desk, unable to bring herself to sit at this hour. Sunset was approaching through the Executive Branch's foliage and streamed through a dozen projected screens of news analysts, talking heads, and government broadcasts- all set on mute. She had long since changed out of her formal-wear and had donned what her staff called "executive loungewear" while sorting through deployments, force call ups, and literally dozens of diplomatic communiques in foreign capitals that she needed to oversee, review, or write personally.

This was, in no uncertain terms, an unmitigated disaster. Two foreign flotillas were now inside Rolvian Space, approaching the capital world's third moon at Vannifar's invitation- and it was patently clear that if she tried to stop them then the Rolvian Navy would get rolled without the support of local strike craft fleets. She no longer had to worry about a re-election campaign because, if something went wrong here, there wouldn't be enough Rolvians left to run a campaign for. They were still digging up bodies on Manir from the Great War. Individual Rolvians on Manir were calling themselves up in militia networks and preparing to fight off an inevitable invasion. The Ashtar "tomb" was still under firm government control, but if tempers didn't calm down soon, there would be a confrontation between the reactionaries seeking to seize the dig site and the government forces protecting the site- and her geonuclear option.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the diplomatic networks were reporting that the Federation's 12th Fleet was amassing at the borders for "war games". The Chancellor of the Federation was definitely aware of what was happening here in Manir, and the withdrawal from the Detente treaty came as a genuine shock to Vannifar. But the reality of the unraveling galactic peace was overpowering the old forces that put the treaty in place to begin with. Without the Ashtar around to oversee the peace, there was no guarantee of Rolvian sovereignty.

She desperately needed a drink, a shower, and a shuttle to the Overlook Lodge, but the mobilization of military assets and readiness checks of the Strike Groups was necessary. The Superdreadnought Gaea was en route to Rolvius from Mezla, accompanied by the Fifth Fleet escort elements. The Rolvian Starfleet was small by every measure, but they still had one Big Stick to show off to the Asrians and she'd be damned if they weren't aware that the Rolvians could roll out a ship of that tonnage like they could.

Then there was the Federation to consider in this ever growing web...