Whitehaven Palace
Brandenburg
Praetoria
Metternich let out a growl as the training droid caught him by surprise and landed a solid punch to his abdomen, but he stayed quick on his toes, tail lashing behind him, sweat matting his fur. He’d been a star boxer in university, and had very nearly pursued the sport in a professional capacity. It had been helpful on his first campaign as leader of the Crown Centrist party too. At the time, the Crown Centrists had been in opposition, and Metternich had played up his reputation as the brash young fighter by participating in charity boxing matches with some of his political rivals. It was the kind of thing he’d been able to get away with back then, in the tailing years of the Pax Ashtari. He’d won the Centrist leadership after just one term as a delegate in the Low House, a shocking triumph, and the Commonwealth had felt he might be able to disrupt the status quo that had held them stagnant for so long. Now of course, he was far too dignified for charity boxing matches, and his last opponent Emden Konig, Baron Highfield, was still a little loopy all these years later despite the best efforts of the neurosurgeons. Suffice it to say no one particularly wanted to face him in the ring.
The door to Metternich’s private gym opened, his Su’urtugal guard admitting Cato Telemachus. That immediately set off alarm bells in Metternich’s mind, and the training droid got in another body blow. Metternich snarled; he’d better wrap this up. A quick feint pulled the droid off balance, then Metternich let fly the devastating left hook that had put Emden Konig in a three week coma all those years ago. His fist impacted with a force that would have killed any member of most humanoid species, and the droid went limp and toppled over for a moment. It righted itself and went into standby mode at a gesture from Metternich, and the Lord Chancellor took a long drink of water, panting to catch his breath as he gestured Telemachus over.
The Minister of the Interior looked distinctly nervous and unhappy. “What is it Cato? I’m assuming not good news,” Metternich said between breaths.
Telemachus handed Metternich a pad. Veronia Gheertz, head anchor of Praetoria’s leading newscast, The Agenda, was displayed on it, paused mid-word in a rather amusing fashion. “This is the livestream, Lord Chancellor. The original piece came in over PsiNET a few minutes ago, and I did my best to get Gheertz to sit on it, but she says it’s too juicy for that. She appreciates our relationship so she’ll spin it as best she can, but she won’t sit on it completely. It should be coming up right about now.”
Metternich tapped the pad to resume the broadcast. It hiccuped slightly as it caught up with the live stream, then settled down. “-dispatched formal condolences earlier this week, but it remains to be seen how this will affect the Asran diplomatic stance in an already tense galaxy.”
Gheertz tapped her own pad, slightly below the camera’s pickup, the modern equivalent to shuffling notes. The camera angle changed, and Gheertz looked to the new camera with what Metternich knew to be a carefully rehearsed expression, a mixture of troubled concern and trepidation, her ‘serious news time’ face. ”Breaking news out of the Colonies this hour, coming in over PsiNET from FedNat media sources.” A motion of her eyebrows indicated that Gheertz was naturally suspicious of anything that came from the Federation, as all good and proper Commonwealth citizens should be. “According to a Federation journalist on the distant colonial world of Durand, disgruntled spaceport workers have seized control of a Rolvian atmospheric cargo shuttle and taken four Rolvians hostage. Sources say the workers acted in response to rumours of imminent food shortages. Minister of the Interior Sir Cato Telemachus was available only briefly for comment just minutes ago, and told us here at The Agenda that there is indeed a hostage situation on Durand, but in the interest of the hostage’s safety he would not comment further, and would encourage all media in the Commonwealth to refrain from giving the terrorist colonials a platform on which to air their grievances. He also wished to reassure the citizens of the Commonwealth and the leaders of the Republic that a swift and decisive operation is being prepared to secure the hostages. With all this in mind, we here at the Agenda won’t engage in speculation over the terrorists’ motives, but we will turn to our At Issue panel to analyse how this might affect the galactic diplomatic situation.”
Metternich stabbed a finger at the pad to pause the broadcast as the flashy intro for At Issue began. He carefully handed the pad back to Telemachus, turned to the training droid, and promptly let out a bloodcurdling primal roar as he punched the droid’s head clean off with a sickening crunch. The droid went limp and toppled over again, but Metternich pounced on it and tore its arm off with terrifying fury. Using the severed arm as a club, he methodically bashed the droid apart, pounding its reinforced chassis into small pieces. It took all of five minutes, which Telemachus watched with fascination.
Metternich looked up at his friend. “Cato, please inform the rest of Cabinet that we’ll be meeting in full at the Imperial Palace in one hour,” he said with deadly calm. He walked to the opposite wall of the gym to activate another training droid, and Telemachus left him to demolish that one in peace while he went off to gather his colleagues.
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The Scarlet Gallery of the Imperial Palace
Brandenburg Old Quarter
Praetoria
It was quiet around the conference table when Metternich’s cabinet assembled before the Imperial Queen. Everyone had seen The Agenda’s coverage of the story. To her credit, Gheertz had done an excellent job of steering the At Issue panel’s discussions away from the question of food shortages and focussed them on foreign relations, a safe area where the panelists could verbally spar with one another without causing any major headaches for the government. Across the Core Worlds and most of the Constituents, the coverage would be similar enough that it wouldn’t cause problems. Certainly there were some argumentative Constituent worlds out there (Arraven came to mind), where the local media would harp on about the government’s imperialism, the plight of the poor colonials, and so on, but even on Arraven, people were far too comfortable in their lives to actually do anything about the situation. But in the Colonies, things were less certain, prompting Celia Temkins, Minister of Planetary Environments, to give voice to the question they were all thinking.
“How bad is it going to get, Cato?” She frowned, and shook her head. “Let me be more specific. I recognize that the domestic and foreign affairs situations are tied together, so let me put it this way; how bad is this going to get if all we have to deal with is rumours of food shortages?”
Metternich glanced at Temkins sharply. It was an uncharacteristically precise question from her; she usually preferred to keep things vague when it came to the Colonies. Could it be that she wasn’t as attached to her heritage out there as he’d thought? Or was she just rising to the challenge of a new crisis? Curious…
Telemachus nodded slowly. “Thank you for the specificity, Celia, that will indeed make things easier to discuss. If we only have to deal with rumours, we should be fine. Actually, even if the Rolvians confirm the shortages, we should still be fine, now that I’ve been able to use the hostage situation to raise the alert level of our Civil Order assets. That wasn’t an option when we were trying to keep things quiet, but the forward deploying we decided on did help get the alert level raised faster. If it’s just food shortages, we’re now deployed in such a way that we can crush any uprising that becomes too problematic for local authorities. In short, it won’t be good, but it won’t be too bad either.”
Temkins indicated her understanding with a slow roll of her shoulders. She glanced at Metternich, who simply gave a small shrug and gestured for her to continue, curious where the scientist-turned-minister would go. She turned to Castlereagh. “Robert, I’m assuming you sent a message off to Rolvius as soon as you heard?”
The Minister of Foreign Affairs sighed. “Yes, but it can’t possibly get there any faster than the news piece from FedNat. Hell, even that episode of The Agenda will get there a few minutes sooner over PsiNET. I’ve held off on sending specific instructions to Ribbentrop for the moment, the physical dispatch we sent when this situation started should be arriving soon enough to give him the full details. Further instructions can be sent over PsiNET as needed once.”
“You’ve always told us Vannifar’s a pragmatic sort, even if she is facing domestic pressure. What I’m actually more worried about is FedNat.”
Eyes around the table locked on Celia Temkins as she said it, but she continued doggedly. “Gods know they love playing peacekeeper. What do we tell them if they offer assistance in recovering the hostages?” She held up a hand as Mathias Bosch began to sputter in indignation. “Yes, normally we could tell them to suck vacuum, but these are Rolvian hostages. How do we convince Vannifar we’re serious about getting her people back if we won’t accept any help doing it? Cato, I’m assuming of course that accepting that help is out of the question.”
Telemachus nodded again. “An admission of impotence on that scale would shatter us. Not just Colonies, but Constituents and even a few Cores would start asking why the hell they need us if we’re going to let FedNat in to take care of a few rowdy dock workers.”
Catherine remained silent from her place at the head of the table. She wished Martuf were here, but he was off making arrangements to take care of the Durand situation; it was possible he was on his way there personally. At last she spoke. “We might be able to pin that on me,” she said quietly.
“I’m not sure I understand, your Imperial Majesty,” Temkins said with a frown.
“It’s one possibility, at least. Clement and the rest of you decide to ask for foreign help resolving the situation, but your temperamental and capricious monarch unilaterally forbids it. There’s great risk, of course, but there always is in these things.”
The rest of the table looked thoughtful. Catherine leaned forward. “It could be done the other way around too, but either way, one of us looks better internationally while the other looks better domestically. We’re all here; why don’t we kick the idea around and see if we can figure out who can take the domestic hit?”
Telemachus spoke up first, and Catherine settled back in her chair. This was a problem her cabinet could work on, a way to keep their brains busy while they waited to hear from Martuf about Durand. Hopefully the hostages would be safe soon, and the entire discussion would be moot.
Brandenburg
Praetoria
Metternich let out a growl as the training droid caught him by surprise and landed a solid punch to his abdomen, but he stayed quick on his toes, tail lashing behind him, sweat matting his fur. He’d been a star boxer in university, and had very nearly pursued the sport in a professional capacity. It had been helpful on his first campaign as leader of the Crown Centrist party too. At the time, the Crown Centrists had been in opposition, and Metternich had played up his reputation as the brash young fighter by participating in charity boxing matches with some of his political rivals. It was the kind of thing he’d been able to get away with back then, in the tailing years of the Pax Ashtari. He’d won the Centrist leadership after just one term as a delegate in the Low House, a shocking triumph, and the Commonwealth had felt he might be able to disrupt the status quo that had held them stagnant for so long. Now of course, he was far too dignified for charity boxing matches, and his last opponent Emden Konig, Baron Highfield, was still a little loopy all these years later despite the best efforts of the neurosurgeons. Suffice it to say no one particularly wanted to face him in the ring.
The door to Metternich’s private gym opened, his Su’urtugal guard admitting Cato Telemachus. That immediately set off alarm bells in Metternich’s mind, and the training droid got in another body blow. Metternich snarled; he’d better wrap this up. A quick feint pulled the droid off balance, then Metternich let fly the devastating left hook that had put Emden Konig in a three week coma all those years ago. His fist impacted with a force that would have killed any member of most humanoid species, and the droid went limp and toppled over for a moment. It righted itself and went into standby mode at a gesture from Metternich, and the Lord Chancellor took a long drink of water, panting to catch his breath as he gestured Telemachus over.
The Minister of the Interior looked distinctly nervous and unhappy. “What is it Cato? I’m assuming not good news,” Metternich said between breaths.
Telemachus handed Metternich a pad. Veronia Gheertz, head anchor of Praetoria’s leading newscast, The Agenda, was displayed on it, paused mid-word in a rather amusing fashion. “This is the livestream, Lord Chancellor. The original piece came in over PsiNET a few minutes ago, and I did my best to get Gheertz to sit on it, but she says it’s too juicy for that. She appreciates our relationship so she’ll spin it as best she can, but she won’t sit on it completely. It should be coming up right about now.”
Metternich tapped the pad to resume the broadcast. It hiccuped slightly as it caught up with the live stream, then settled down. “-dispatched formal condolences earlier this week, but it remains to be seen how this will affect the Asran diplomatic stance in an already tense galaxy.”
Gheertz tapped her own pad, slightly below the camera’s pickup, the modern equivalent to shuffling notes. The camera angle changed, and Gheertz looked to the new camera with what Metternich knew to be a carefully rehearsed expression, a mixture of troubled concern and trepidation, her ‘serious news time’ face. ”Breaking news out of the Colonies this hour, coming in over PsiNET from FedNat media sources.” A motion of her eyebrows indicated that Gheertz was naturally suspicious of anything that came from the Federation, as all good and proper Commonwealth citizens should be. “According to a Federation journalist on the distant colonial world of Durand, disgruntled spaceport workers have seized control of a Rolvian atmospheric cargo shuttle and taken four Rolvians hostage. Sources say the workers acted in response to rumours of imminent food shortages. Minister of the Interior Sir Cato Telemachus was available only briefly for comment just minutes ago, and told us here at The Agenda that there is indeed a hostage situation on Durand, but in the interest of the hostage’s safety he would not comment further, and would encourage all media in the Commonwealth to refrain from giving the terrorist colonials a platform on which to air their grievances. He also wished to reassure the citizens of the Commonwealth and the leaders of the Republic that a swift and decisive operation is being prepared to secure the hostages. With all this in mind, we here at the Agenda won’t engage in speculation over the terrorists’ motives, but we will turn to our At Issue panel to analyse how this might affect the galactic diplomatic situation.”
Metternich stabbed a finger at the pad to pause the broadcast as the flashy intro for At Issue began. He carefully handed the pad back to Telemachus, turned to the training droid, and promptly let out a bloodcurdling primal roar as he punched the droid’s head clean off with a sickening crunch. The droid went limp and toppled over again, but Metternich pounced on it and tore its arm off with terrifying fury. Using the severed arm as a club, he methodically bashed the droid apart, pounding its reinforced chassis into small pieces. It took all of five minutes, which Telemachus watched with fascination.
Metternich looked up at his friend. “Cato, please inform the rest of Cabinet that we’ll be meeting in full at the Imperial Palace in one hour,” he said with deadly calm. He walked to the opposite wall of the gym to activate another training droid, and Telemachus left him to demolish that one in peace while he went off to gather his colleagues.
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The Scarlet Gallery of the Imperial Palace
Brandenburg Old Quarter
Praetoria
It was quiet around the conference table when Metternich’s cabinet assembled before the Imperial Queen. Everyone had seen The Agenda’s coverage of the story. To her credit, Gheertz had done an excellent job of steering the At Issue panel’s discussions away from the question of food shortages and focussed them on foreign relations, a safe area where the panelists could verbally spar with one another without causing any major headaches for the government. Across the Core Worlds and most of the Constituents, the coverage would be similar enough that it wouldn’t cause problems. Certainly there were some argumentative Constituent worlds out there (Arraven came to mind), where the local media would harp on about the government’s imperialism, the plight of the poor colonials, and so on, but even on Arraven, people were far too comfortable in their lives to actually do anything about the situation. But in the Colonies, things were less certain, prompting Celia Temkins, Minister of Planetary Environments, to give voice to the question they were all thinking.
“How bad is it going to get, Cato?” She frowned, and shook her head. “Let me be more specific. I recognize that the domestic and foreign affairs situations are tied together, so let me put it this way; how bad is this going to get if all we have to deal with is rumours of food shortages?”
Metternich glanced at Temkins sharply. It was an uncharacteristically precise question from her; she usually preferred to keep things vague when it came to the Colonies. Could it be that she wasn’t as attached to her heritage out there as he’d thought? Or was she just rising to the challenge of a new crisis? Curious…
Telemachus nodded slowly. “Thank you for the specificity, Celia, that will indeed make things easier to discuss. If we only have to deal with rumours, we should be fine. Actually, even if the Rolvians confirm the shortages, we should still be fine, now that I’ve been able to use the hostage situation to raise the alert level of our Civil Order assets. That wasn’t an option when we were trying to keep things quiet, but the forward deploying we decided on did help get the alert level raised faster. If it’s just food shortages, we’re now deployed in such a way that we can crush any uprising that becomes too problematic for local authorities. In short, it won’t be good, but it won’t be too bad either.”
Temkins indicated her understanding with a slow roll of her shoulders. She glanced at Metternich, who simply gave a small shrug and gestured for her to continue, curious where the scientist-turned-minister would go. She turned to Castlereagh. “Robert, I’m assuming you sent a message off to Rolvius as soon as you heard?”
The Minister of Foreign Affairs sighed. “Yes, but it can’t possibly get there any faster than the news piece from FedNat. Hell, even that episode of The Agenda will get there a few minutes sooner over PsiNET. I’ve held off on sending specific instructions to Ribbentrop for the moment, the physical dispatch we sent when this situation started should be arriving soon enough to give him the full details. Further instructions can be sent over PsiNET as needed once.”
“You’ve always told us Vannifar’s a pragmatic sort, even if she is facing domestic pressure. What I’m actually more worried about is FedNat.”
Eyes around the table locked on Celia Temkins as she said it, but she continued doggedly. “Gods know they love playing peacekeeper. What do we tell them if they offer assistance in recovering the hostages?” She held up a hand as Mathias Bosch began to sputter in indignation. “Yes, normally we could tell them to suck vacuum, but these are Rolvian hostages. How do we convince Vannifar we’re serious about getting her people back if we won’t accept any help doing it? Cato, I’m assuming of course that accepting that help is out of the question.”
Telemachus nodded again. “An admission of impotence on that scale would shatter us. Not just Colonies, but Constituents and even a few Cores would start asking why the hell they need us if we’re going to let FedNat in to take care of a few rowdy dock workers.”
Catherine remained silent from her place at the head of the table. She wished Martuf were here, but he was off making arrangements to take care of the Durand situation; it was possible he was on his way there personally. At last she spoke. “We might be able to pin that on me,” she said quietly.
“I’m not sure I understand, your Imperial Majesty,” Temkins said with a frown.
“It’s one possibility, at least. Clement and the rest of you decide to ask for foreign help resolving the situation, but your temperamental and capricious monarch unilaterally forbids it. There’s great risk, of course, but there always is in these things.”
The rest of the table looked thoughtful. Catherine leaned forward. “It could be done the other way around too, but either way, one of us looks better internationally while the other looks better domestically. We’re all here; why don’t we kick the idea around and see if we can figure out who can take the domestic hit?”
Telemachus spoke up first, and Catherine settled back in her chair. This was a problem her cabinet could work on, a way to keep their brains busy while they waited to hear from Martuf about Durand. Hopefully the hostages would be safe soon, and the entire discussion would be moot.
