NationStates Jolt Archive

Archduke Raphael Corrin III, reigning monarch of the Grand Duchy of New Ortaga, looked at the two men before him. One was Earl Gihren Zabi, leader of the Corrin Loyalist party in the Ortagan House of Lords, the other was Channing Ansel, leader of the Conservative Federation in the Ortagan House of Commons.

“Gentlemen, you are correct, the situation in Taka does have me greatly concerned. I have been in several meetings with my various advisors, and I will admit to that. But surely there is a better course than overturning the entire current parliamentary administration.”

“I would not be so certain, Your Grace,” Gihren Zabi says. “Dame Valleneia is looking at stepping down soon, and the potential power vacuum in the United Parliamentarians Coalition would be large, and I doubt Dame Minervia and the Wellington Alliance can fill the gap in the current coalition.”

“Also, Your Grace,” says Ansel, “let us be realistic about the Commons. Prime Minister Fremont’s coalition is failing. The Green Party and the Reformers’ Alliance have nearly completely broken away from the Government voting block. The Laborers’ Party will no doubt do the same, and the United Progressive Coalition and the Democratic Reformists cannot bear the weight of Government alone. There is strife in the Colonies, the ILM is becoming increasingly aggressive on New Edo, and pirate attacks on our trade routes between Gadsen and Saint Ives grow more and more common.”
“I seriously doubt if Prime Minister Fremont’s government can handle an incident on the home front here on Proxima plus the troubles they face elsewhere. We need a stronger Government in power before our position becomes unsalvageable. Surely, Your Grace, you can see that we need to stabilize ourselves again or risk losing the empire and our prestige among our allies.”

“Indeed,” says Gihren. “We need to consider alternatives to insure that we remain at the forefront of Proxima affairs. The Valinor will not interfere, most of the Imperial Diet loathes the more liberal approach of Fremont and Emperor Rowald does not favor it either. Taka has its own growing list of concerns and Falasmayon is not yet influential or powerful enough to pose a thread.”

“I see your reasoning,” the Archduke says. “And indeed I know that the problems facing my nation grow even more severe. However, I will not openly condone the basic overthrow of the two major coalitions in the Parliament. Do what you must, gentlemen, but know this, I will not interfere one way or another. The results of this shall rest in your hands. Now, if you will excuse me,” the Archduke moves to rise, Gihren and Channing rapidly rush to their own feet. Raphael Corrin departs leaving the pair alone.

“Well now we will not have to worry about possible military intervention,” Ansel mummers.

“No, but we also lose the support of the Corrin name. Official the Archduke may only directly control the military and the various defense components, but unofficial he maintains great political affluence. It matters little though, Dame Minervia can be easily removed from the House of Lords. Without her, the UPC and WA unity will crumble like dust when Dame Valleneia steps down, and they do not realize the Colonialist Union stands with Lord Dermail and myself,” Gihren says with a vague smile.

“Indeed. Fremont’s coalition is already crumbling, and I can easily exploit the fractures between the UPC and her minor partners, along with the Labourers’ Party. And with the rest of Proxima’s eyes turned elsewhere, no one will notice the changes until it is too late. A resurgence is what New Ortaga needs, and a resurgence we shall have.”

“Then the Falas…..” Gihren says vaguely.

“Expect nothing. Admiral Marmaduke is already prepared to begin the first stage of our test,” Ansel smiles, unable to resist using his own ties to the military to influence Archduke Raphael’s already interesting directive.

“Good. At your convenience, Mr. Ansel, can you join me for dinner in three days.”

“It will be a please, Earl Zabi.”

“Excellent,” the latest of the Zabi politicians nods and then departs, followed moments later by Ansel

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Earl of Wayridge, Gihren Zabi

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Channing Ansel, House of Commons Conservative Federation

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Archduke Raphael Corrin III

*tag* you sneaky bastard

OOC:Hmm... thats interesting. I sense some cloak and dagger.

IC: Administrator Dorian Metternicht considered his options. As Administrator of Foreign Relations he would give his report to the High Chancellor on Proximan foreign relations in about 10 minutes, and he composed himself. The Chancellor was not avolcanic man, but he needed clear and concise reoprting to make good decisions.

The High Chancellor of the Dominion entered the room. "Come Dorian sit. You have your monthly report for me, again what goes with our neighbors? Are the situations proceeding as we've forseen?"

"Somewhat, sir." responded the administrator. "I will of couse give you a complete report later this evening, but as a preliminary, here is what we have. Taka and Valinon continue in their courses, although the developments over Dozle, are likely to cause major pro-military policy shifts. The main issue remains New Ortaga."

"We have known for years that she was in decline, as she lost one colony world after the next. Recently however, information sems to suggest that the problem may be getting desperate. There is dessension in the Parliament, disagreements may be intensifying, and the political and economic problems appear to have come to a head. In their current state the Ortagans might de anything to reclaim their fading glory. They may try a resurgence of colonialism, or militarism, or any number of things. I have compiled a list of worlds which they may move to take over, this includes the Archangel colony, we may want to attempt to gain total control of the jumpgate to there relatively soon, though we dont have any plans for this now."

"Militarily, it is unthinkable that they will attempt to attack Taka or Valinon, both are much too powerful. That leaves either an out system power or Rhiannon or (regretfully) us. We dont have any clear indications of their actions or intentions though, and without them we cannot act. It is likely that we won't know their plans until they unfold, to whatever end."

"Hmm." responded the Chancellor, "you are right in that we cant do anything outright until they act, a pre-emptive strike is both numerically and politically impossible. Assuming they're even planning to attack us. Our information sources have proved invaluable but have not been conclusive yet. We will continue on our planned course."

"Yessir." responded Metternicht, and left the office of the High Chancellor

Silesia, The Evening

Dame Minervia reviews material from her staff as she travels to her apartment in Silesia, away from the political centerpoint of the House of Lords, the ancient Landing Parliamentary Hall. Although not as large as the newer Hall of the Commons, the building still inspires awe with artwork stretching back to the founding of New Ortaga on Proxima.

She sighs, watching the the building recede, and lays the reports aside. Soon she will be busy enough and there is nothing wrong with a stolen moment of peace. She wishes that she could persuade Valleneia to keep a more active presence in politics, but the older woman is too ready to regain some time of her own.

"Well deserved," she mummers, thinking of the 80 years Dame Valleneia has spent leading the House of Lords as either an opposition or majority member, fighting with the likes of Gihren Zabi and his father, and having to deal with the erstatz Colonialist Union party.

Minvervia wakes from her repost, looking at her chrono to see she had drifted to sleep for almost fifteen minutes of the half hour long ride to her "home" in Silesia. She looks to see the cityscape and gasps.

It will be the last thing she ever saids. A hover truck carrying speeds rapidly, apparently trying to cheat the traffic controller systems. A screech of metal and composite materials echoes through Silesia's night, followed a few minutes later by an explosion. An hour later, the news networks of New Ortaga confirm that Dame Minervia was killed in an unfortunate accident.

Wayridge, The Evening

Gihren Zabi pours himself a generous glass of wine, watching as the Solar News Network (SNN) tells of the accident in Silesia.

He smiles, "You are sure you will not join me?"

The man sitting at the chair next to his own shakes his head, "I am here to collect the rest of my fee."

"Very well," Gihren Zabi looks at the low-rung crimelords of Ortaga's stubborn organized crime element. He uses a concealed signal to call for his manservant. The butler walks in and sets the alloy security case beside Gihren. He motions the manservant away then dials in the security code and places his thumb on the small scanner.

"One hundred thousand dollars," he mummers. "I hope you intended to spend it well," with that he draws a compact needle gun from inside the case and depresses the trigger. The darts spray into the man's face, causing enough damage on their own, but also injecting a fast acting neuro-toxin. The man screams and topples the chair over. Gihren watches as he tries to stagger toward him, blinded and gurgling, then he falls to the floor. Gihren depresses the button again, three of his own security men enter.

"You know what to do."

"Yes, Sir."

Gihren watches they drag the body away, and pours himself a glass of wine.

Hall of the Commons, Silesia, Four Days Later

Channing Ansel approaches the speakers podium nodding to his supporters and to Prime Minister Fremont, the leader of the current government eyes him warily. The last few days have rended Fremont's government even further apart, and the death of Dame Minvervia has accelerated the process. Ansel surpresses a smile, and reaches the podium with a solemn and grave face.

"My fellow representatives," he says sweeping his eyes across the over 800 members of the House of Commons, "the times of our nation are grave. This is the moment of testing, a moment in which we will be called to triumph or to fall to failure. We have seen the signs over the past few years, the signs that we must look to our history and realize what we once were and what we have now become. The time has come for all of us to look."

He presses ruthlessly onward, "We have all seen the reports, pirates plague our trade routes to Gadsen and Saint Ives along with our various trading enclaves. The so-called Imperial Liberation Movement, nothing by a group of suicidal terrorist, rage against the legitimate authority of Emperor Kagato and the Protectorateship of New Edo. Our economy stagnates as markets are closed as we lose interest, or let apathy take us."

"If this is allowed to continue, there will be no future for our nation or our people. The clues are laid out before our eyes, for all to bear witness to. Our reliance on outside exports, from the United Star Empire of Valinon and a host of others has become to great, soon we may lose all sembelance of self-sufficiency. And in this time were plots hold the focus of those nations around us, and some seek to usurp our rightful position on Proxima Centauri and in the galaxy."

"This long list of greviances has been building up over our recent history. I do not fault all members of the current government, in fact I hold many of them in the highest regard. But the drive and focus they still hold in their hearts is not matched by their supporters and constituents."

The Commons begin to mummer, Fremont looks eyes widening.

"It is therefore my solemn duty, as a representative of the Conservative Federation, along with others who at this time chose to remain anonymous, to call for a Vote of No Confidence against Prime Minister Fremont and the coalition government headed by the United Progressive Coalition," Ansel moves back from the podium. Fremont sags in his chair, looking up at Ansel. Both men knew what was coming, one knowing he would be unable to stop in, one knowing full well what he was about to do could not be stopped.

Chancellor of the Exchequer Murgos, second-in-charge of the Government, rapidly grabs the gavel of the chamber and begins to pound for order as the din of the Commons grows louder and louder.

"Order! Order! Order! Order before I have the Elite Guardsmen retore it!" the last threat brings the din to a dull roar and then it ebbs.

Fremont assumes the podium, looking very, very drawn. Murgos looks at him then nods.

Fremont grasps the podium, "Representatives of the citizens of New Ortaga, a Vote of No Confidence has been issued by the Conservative Federation and occultus distraho. As is set forth during this proceeding, the House shall be called into a caucus. I will now set a motion to set the caucus time."

A representative from the Democratic Reformers, last of the supporters of the United Progressive Coalition, stands.

"The Chair recognizes Sean Mott," Fremont says, shakily.

"Motion to set the time of caucus for 24 hours."

"Motion for caucus at 24 hours. Do we have a second?" several votes are calculated by the rooms electronics.

"Any opposition to this proposal?" none registers.

"Seeing no opposition, the Chair now holds the House in caucus until 04:00 Standard Time, tomorrow. We are now in caucus," Fremont sends the sounds of the echoing through the silenced Halls of Commons. He then moves along with the rest of the hastly forming groups to begin a campaign for the survival of his Government coalition, and to stave off a stunning new assault from the Ortagan conservative elements. He looks at those clustering around Ansel and the other key members of the Conservative Federation and knows that this is one battle that will be entirely up hill.

Damnit ,thought Metternicht reading his most recent report. Things were progressing as he had feared they may. With Valleneia retiring and the recent death of Dame Minerva. The Conservatives were now poised to make a move of some kind. He did not really believe that Minerva had died accidentally, but without any proof he could not be certain.

Now this most recent development boding ill. It appeared that the Consevative Federation's leadership had decided that Prime Minister Fremont was in their way. Rumors were leaking out that, a vote of no confidence had been called, after a rousing speech by Channing Ansel.Metternicht decided that if the rumors were true, then the conservatives wouldn't have called it if they weren't reasonably assured of getting one of their men into the position. This would give them significant political backing for whatever they were planning.

The odds kept pilling up that ORtaga was poised to attempt to regain its former glory. He needed to inform the High Chancellor.

Hall of the Commons, Silesia, 24 Hours Later

Jorge Fremont stands before the House of Commons for what he knows is the last time. He has carefully observed the movements of the MPs, knowing exactly what is about to happen. The United Progressive Coalition and the Democratic Reformists have aligned their votes to pool 296 votes, but the rest looks grim. The Laborers’ Party is split, but the majority is going to abstain, not vote in support of Fremont. The majority of the minor parties, the Green Party and the Reformers Alliance are following the same path. Finally, the Workers’ Liberationists Union, dubbed the “communists” of New Ortaga, seem ready to vote against Fremont for sheer spite rather than for support of Ansel.

The formidable array that Ansel has in place is what worries Fremont. The Conservative Federation, Protectorate Obligation Party, and the United Industrialists Party have firmly allied themselves to be the next Government. With 402 votes assured, the final say of what few other votes my stray to their cause does not even matter.

Fremont pounds the gavel, “The twenty-four hour caucus taken due to the call of a Vote of No Confidence is hereby ended. The Chair will now take a motion to reopen the floor.”

One of the Conservative Federation MPs rises, “Motion to reopen the floor!”

“Is there a second?” Fremont says, barely even looking.

At one time Fremont would have asked for opposition, but today that would be more of waste than usual, “The floor has now been reopened. We will now move to address the last order of business brought before us. At this time, the Chair will now entertain the opening of the speakers’ list so the Vote of No Confidence procedure can move ahead.” Fremont hands the gavel over to Murgos, preparing to make a speech he suspects will be his last as Prime Minister of Archduke Raphael III’s Government in the House of the Commons.

Hall of the Commons, Silesia, 3 hours later

The last of the speeches were completed, and the final positions had become clear. Fremont moved to take the podium again.

“Seeing that the speakers’ list has been exhausted, we will now move into voting on the
matter of a Vote of No Confidence against the UPC/DR Coalition.”

Fremont turns to the Elite Guardsmen specially assigned to the House of Commons.

“Bar the doors,” the soldiers comply.

Fremont takes a deep breath, “All those voting in favor of the continued administration of the United Progressive Coalition and the Democratic Reformists please enter your votes now.”

Fremont looks at the tally grimly, just 307, he takes a shaky breath.

“All those voting against the continued administration of the United Progressive Coalition and the Democratic Reformists please enter your votes now.”

Not even necessary he thinks he looks at the final tally 415. Well at least all the WLU didn’t side with them after all

“All those abstaining?” 91 votes come in as abstentions.

Fremont draws a last breath, “With a vote of 307 for, 415 against, and 91 abstaining the Vote of No Confidence has passed. As is tradition, the Chair will now entertain a motion to establish a time at which voting for a new Government or Coalition will be held.”

Channing Ansel stands this time, “Motion to establish voting two days from now to establish a new Coalition Government.”

“Motion for two days, is there a second?” several come in.

“Any opposition?” Fremont’s eyebrow raises as several telltales come in.

“Seeing opposition we will now speak on this matter then move to vote.”

Hall of the Commons, Silesia, 1 hour later

Fremont takes a glass of water. After debate from Murgos himself as a member of the Democratic Reformists, and by Channing Ansel as the many proponent of two days. Date was set for tomorrow, rather than two days. And the Conservative Federation leader had almost looked vaguely worried.

“My colleagues,” he sweeps the room, eyes resting hard on Channing Ansel, “before I entertain a motion to recess I would ask for a few moments of your time.”

Fremont takes a deep breath and presses onward, “I have served in the House of the Commons for nearly seventy years, in my opinion I think the people of Gaia’s Landing should have long since stopped reelecting me. I know I would grow tired of myself if I was stuck with me for the better part of seventy years. But they have apparently held my word and my services as great in value. However, I feel that there has come a time for a new force to arise. In three months time, my term to the Commons will end, and this time it shall be for the last.”

Several members seem shocked, but the now voted out Prime Minister presses on.
“After stepping down from the office of the Prime Minister, with no malice toward either side I will serve out my term and persist to enter history, an event many will no doubt hail as long overdue. I hope that the ideas shown during my time here will continue, and that the rest of you will seek to uphold what is in the best interests for the future of our nation. We are still a strong nation, ladies and gentlemen, we still have our pride and above all else we still have our dignity. I leave here today with something of a piece of mind that that fact will not be forgotten wholly inside this hall.”

“Now, the Chair will entertain a motion to recess,” after a few moments the process is complete. Fremont walks slowly down from the central platform where the highest officials of the Government sat, followed by those who served with him both for a long time and some just recently. He walks slowly, knowing that as he leaves something new is coming into the government of New Ortaga, and despite what he has said, he is not sure it is for the best.

Whisper Palace, Three Weeks Later

Raphael Corrin looks out over the expanse of Silesia as the dual suns of Alpha Centauri fade into night. He looks at the reports, Gihren Zabi has successfully completed his coup. The United Parliamentarians and the Wellington Alliance are no longer the powers of the House of Lords. Now Gihren Zabi leads the legislative body with the support of the Corrin Loyalists, the Ducal Conservatives, and the Colonialist Union. Prime Minister Channing Ansel dominates the House of Lords with 446. The newest support comes from factions that broke off from the Laborers' Party, the Green Part, and the Reformers' Alliance to form the New Nationalists.

For once, he muses everything seems to be falling into place

A door opens behind him, and in enters Poul Corrin, nephew of Raphael and heir apparent to the throne of the Corrins.

"You wished to see me, Uncle?"

"Yes, I did, Paul," Raphael turns his view from the cityscape. "I will make it no secret that I never wanted to be Archduke, but your father's....untimely death left me with few options. You were too young to take the throne, and I feared what a Regency would do to the nation. It may have very well meant the end of the Corrin line as any kind of political power. However, I will have no heirs and whenever my time on this world is done you will become the next Archduke."

The older Corrin sighs, "I am not a military man, Poul, and that is one of the reasons I was glad my father allowed Alexander to stand next in line of succession instead of myself. The duties of the Archduke mostly lean toward one of the few remaining powers left to us, our control of the armed forces of New Ortaga. My own vague knowledge I fear has done considerable damage, and my reliance on advisors such as Admiral Delaz and General Synapse cannot adequately hide all my faults. But you, Poul, you have that innate ability that your father and your grandfather had, that mindset that allows you to easily grasp the nuances of tactics and strategms. Therefore, effective immediately, you will become the de facto supreme commander of the Ortagan military."

"Are you sure this is wise, Uncle? The Parliament may not approve."

"For what I gave Gihren Zabi and Ansel I am owed a few favors, and this is one of them. Besides, Paul, it is already done. I have ordered Admiral Delaz, Admiral Garahau, and Admiral Hellings to return to Proxima as soon as possible. Once they and generals Kellanry and Synapse arrive you will be debriefed on the full military state of New Ortaga. I issued my last order as the full military commander of the Ortagan forces this morning, it was an action to address the ILM problem on New Edo. From here on out, Paul, you control the military forces in my name. The decisions will be yours."

The younger Corrin looks at his uncle, "As you wish, Uncle Raphael. I will not fail you."

"Worry about the trails that are coming on the horizon, Poul, they will be a far greater test than any I could possibly design. Oh, and before I forget, Rear Admiral Saharin will want to debrief you on his research projects. I think you will find them most useful."

"Yes, Uncle. Will that be all?"

"You do know I intend to go ahead with the diplomatic summit?"

"Yes, Uncle."

"Then that is all."

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Lord Poul Corrin

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Admiral Geoff Marmaduke, Commander of the Ortagan Solar Navy First Fleet

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Admiral Auguille Delaz, Commander of the Ortagan Solar Navy Third Fleet

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Admiral Cima Garahau, Commander of the Ortagan Solar Navy Fourth Fleet

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Admiral Julius Hellings, Commander of the Ortagan Solar Navy Fifth Fleet

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Rear Admiral Ginia Saharin, Director of the Deparment of Research and Development

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General Yuri Kellanry, Six Saber Rank

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General Eiphar Synapse, Six Saber Rank

High Chancellor Edouard Beauchamp sat at the head of the rectangular table of his briefing room. His Cabinet of Administrators sat before him. It was not one of their regulary scheduled bi-weekly meetings. Two of his cabinet had requested he call a special meeting, which never meant good things in his opinion.

"Ladies and gentleman." he began. "I've called this meeting at the behest of Mr. Metternicht, and Mr. Dlarit. I will let them begin."

Dorian Metternicht, Administrator of Foreign Relations, nodded and began to speak. "Thank you sir. A few weeks ago, the conservatives in the Ortagan commons and house of lords staged a political coup and effectively took power. I think they have the passive backing of the Archduke. He didn't stop them from ousting Fremont, which he might have managed with his political clout. This will give them the pilitical power to do what they want to, without opposition from the other groups, its the political will to back up anything they might do militarily."

"That fits with the intelligence we've been recieving." commented Beauchamp.

"Yes sir, and there is more. Dlarit..."

"Thank you Dorian." said Sal Dlarit, Administrator of Military Affairs, as he stood. " In addition to the political situation, we may have the developments of a military situation as well. Approximately 10 hours ago The Ortagan military recalled several high ranking members of its command to Silesia. It appears that way at least. We know for sure only that Admiral Hellings has been recalled. Lord-Admiral Severus called on him to join him for dinner. One of his secretaries informed Severus that the Admiral had been called on short notice to Silesia and would be unable to dine with him. Also, Macragge has noted several Ortagan shuttles traveling to Silesia using high level naval and army clearance codes. We don't know what they'r doing or planning, but it also fits out intelligence, we may have problems with Ortaga soon."

The High Chancellor thought for a moment. "This could be serious, and potentially devastating. An Otragan invasion would be difficult if not impossible to repulse. We will need to open channels. Tell Ambassador Answar that she is to make use of the diplomatic reception to garner information, and contact the Valinor embassy. we need to meet with them."

******
A telegram was hand carried to the Valinor Embassy in Valinon the next day. It read:

"Mr. Ambassador,

It would be greatly helpful if you could meet with me tonight. We have grave matters to dicuss, and may be in need of your help, and the aid of all Valinon. Please come to the Administration of Foreign Relations at 7:00 tonight.

Dorian Metternicht.

Response: New Koln, Magenta level Encrypt
From: Count Viktor Leopold, First Minister for His Majesty's Foreign Affairs


Mr. Metternicht,

We are aware of the situation, and His Majesty will send representatives at once. You can expect Baron Adolf von Manus and Lady Diedre Rolt to attend.

Sincerely,
Count Viktor Leopold
First Minister for His Majesty's Foreign Affairs

*****************

Baron Adolf von Manus, His Majesty's ambassador to New Ortaga steps out of official ground car, he turns around and helps a younger women out of the car. Lady Diedre Rolt thanks the older diplomat, she takes a deep breath, thankful to be away from the United Nations for so long.
They approach the entrance to the Administration of Foreign Relations, a pair of Sardaukar their only guardians besides the Falas forces.

Dorian Metternicht stands as the two are ushered into a well lit study with a spectacular view of Falas City, the capital of the High Dominion, and the sea beyond.

"Thank you for coming on such highly short notice Baron von Manus, Lady Holt." says Dorian, "Please sit. May I offer you a drink?"

Lady Rolt nods, "It is understandable, our reports from New Ortaga have His Majesty and the Imperial Diet concerned as well. As for a drink, a glass of sherry if you have it."
Von Manus looks at Metternicht, "Indeed, I've seen most of the reports come through my office they are....sobering. And a snifter of brandy if you please."

"Yes, the reports from Ortaga are indeed troubling." Metternicht said as the drinks were brought. " We know that Ortaga is apparently fading, and would likely do anything to regain its position. The conservative likely have the position that anything should be done to ragain Ortaga's former postition, and now they have the political will to back it up."

"Additionally, it appears that something important is going on militarily. We dont know what, but something was big enough to recall several high ranking naval personnel. Frankly I'm not sure what that means."
...

"Yes, the reports from Ortaga are indeed troubling." Metternicht said as the drinks were brought. " We know that Ortaga is apparently fading, and would likely do anything to regain its position. The conservative likely have the position that anything should be done to ragain Ortaga's former postition, and now they have the political will to back it up."

"Additionally, it appears that something important is going on militarily. We dont know what, but something was big enough to recall several high ranking naval personnel. Frankly I'm not sure what that means."
...

Lady Rolt looks at von Manus, "You have been at the Ortaga embassy ever since I left. What is the current situation there? Besides what Mr. Metternicht will already know."
Von Manus looks at Metternicth, "For starters, Mr. Metternicht, there has not been a major Ortagan military operation since they conquered New Edo. And for them to recall the three commanders of their mobile assault fleets, speaks volumes. I doubt these flag officers would have just left their commands behind, and I have been hearing rumors that Archduke Raphael is intending to have a full military review soon. Apparently he is going to put his nephew, Poul Corrin, in de facto control of the Ortagan military. Lord Poul has been something of a myster to us ever since his father was assassinated. What little I can tell you is that he is part of the generation that has grown up on the legends of the old Ortagan Empire, hearing tales of when their colonial empire stretched across entire sectors and they were a forced to be feared. He tends to support the very conservative elements of the Ortagan parliament, even more so than his uncle."
Von Manus takes a drink and returns his glass to his knee, "The last time Ortaga pulled anything like this, was during the late stages of the Outer Dominion Wars. In three months they threw the Dominion's only ally, the Empire of New Edo, back to their homeworld and fusioned bombed their few colonies on a planet in their home system out of existence. Odds are we are seeing an attempt to stabilize what is left of the Ortagan colonial empire with a new round of annexiation."

"Hmm. Then the fears of the High Chancellor may be justified indeed. He has recently considered the possibility that the Ortagans may be... shall we say "covetous of their brothers". There is little that could be done however, against an assault like the one upon New Edo. Space stations are difficult to stop. Is a repeat of that particular performance possible? I would consider it unlikely, but at this point I am beginnig to disregard conventional thinking almost as a matter of policy. The Ortagans could attack whomever they saw as ripe territory for absorbtion and do it quickly. Would Valinon be able to stop it if it happened? Perhaps would the Emperor be willing?

Rolt takes a very deep breath, "Mr. Metternicht, the Emperor would be willing to help you in that case, but how much we could actually do is another matter. There is a treaty between Valinon and New Ortaga, older than the PCDI and one we would have to honor first. It is a mutual defense agreement at the basic, but it is more in so many other ways. We cannot attack New Ortaga, not directly at any rate, and conversely they can't attack Valinon, but in a situation like this it ties our hands more than theirs. We could apply a certain amount of political and diplomatic pressure, but what else we can do is another matter."
Von Manus looks at Rolt, "Although I am hesitant to recommend any nation rely so heavily on support that may or may not come, seeing as how the situation stands. You might want to seek the help of the Takans, they are not as bound to New Ortaga as we are. And I believe there is a certain amount of active animosity between the two. And there are the grey areas of unofficiality to consider in this matter as well."
Von Manus last statement is made in highly suggestive tones, and Lady Rolt's expression says the same.
"However," Diedre says, "I do not think the Ortagans would be so brash here on Proxima. After all, there were serve ecological and climate reprecussions because of their use of a orbital drop on New Edo. True it won them the war, but I do not think they can use the same tactic here. It would possibly mean that we could break our treaty, and I know the Takans would not think twice if Ortaga sent a cloud of debris across the planet. If it comes to war, Mr. Metternicht, I look for Ortaga to go to more of traditionalist footing."

Three of the massive warp gates at the outer reaches of the Alpha Centauri system activate. A blue, swiriling vortex of energy opens and the translation begins. Three fleets emerge from the gates, following the orders of their admirals recalled to the home world earlier.

The ships form up moving rapidly past Port Da Vinci, preparing for an intra-system hyperspace translation to the inner system. The forces are massive, dwarfing even in the orbital port. At the core of each fleet sits 24 Ortagan Corrin-class battleships, then 36 Illuminati-class battle cruisers. The massive capital ships are surrounding by a host of lighter ships. The fleets are led by ships carrying names and battle honors almost as old as Ortaga itself: the Gwaden, the Jormungand, and the Baelrog.

Aboard the Gwaden, flagship of the Third Fleet, Vice Admiral Gato sits at the command station in the ship's combat bridge.

"Signal the other flagships. We are to jump outside of the Sentinnel defense perimeter."

"Yes, Vice Admiral."

The three mobile assault fleets of the Solar Navy reorient, and seconds later they vanish into hyperspace, remerging near one of Proxima's moons.

Dorian sat back for a minute before speaking. "Yes, we were aware of the treaty, it does pose some problems. It does not matter though both myself and the High Chancellor understand the importance of honoring one's word. I wont pretend that we could use your aid openly, but it does not matter, there is an old taken phrase that come to mind [i]Sha gata ga nai[i/]. It means "there is no there way". In that case we must prepare in other ways, among them Taka. Of course, the wild card in this entire deck is ADAM. Without knowing his real intention more than vaguely or his plan of action... the entire situation could change drastically in the space of a day."

On the Eurytion surface, the Takian shipyards sit silent, a skeleton crew manning the once teaming shipyard. Her half constructed hulls of her latest projects have seemingly vanished into nothingness, and only the larger Takian warships remain, though streams of shuttles can be seen entering the cavernous docking bays.

The Ortagan fleet reemerges from hyperspace, Anavel Gato eyes the holo displays of the CIC carefully.

"Status on all ships?"

"All ships have reported in as green, Vice Admiral. The translation has been succesful."

"Good, inform the bridge to lay in a course for Sentinnel. We must be ready for the fleet review, the diplomatic conference in Silesia cannot last forever. And I want to be ready when Admiral Delaz returns with Garahau and Hellings."

"Yes, Vice Admiral."

Gato exits the CIC, taking the lift to the bridge of the Gwaden, the Cronus Wing troops guarding the entrance snap to attention and salutes, he returns the favor. Once inside the bridge, he looks out the narrow reinforced plexisteel, and notices something as the fleet passes by Eurytion. He rapidly moves toward the COs station.

"Sensors, give me a full visual magnification of the Eurytion shipyards the Takans are currently using. 3-D."

"Yes, Vice Admiral," Gato pulls on a pair of vid-specs, and watches as his eyes enter a new three dimensional world powered by the battleship's sensors. He "manuvers" around, observing the shipyards from all angles.

"That is no where near the number that should be there. Not even close," he mummers. "Comm, is Admiral Marmaduke in orbit?"

"No, Vice Admiral. He is attending the reception."

Gato takes off the specs, playing with them in his hands.

"Captain Delmerat, the watch is yours again. I will be in my office."

"Yes, Vice Admiral."

Gato leaves, mentally forumlating his report.

The final few shuttles docked in the Dreadnaught's dockingbay, its massive blastdoors sealing themselves off, and with a ripple and a flash of red light, it was gone. A feeble beacon reaches the Ortagan fleet, a simple text message reading, though the batteries of the beacon are failing rapidly.

[code:1:a1e30d55ff]
warning, this area is off limits due to a viral outbreak on the Eurytion shipyards. . . warning, this area is off limits due to a viral outbreak on the Eurytion shipyards. . . All Takian Personel have been quarentined in deep space awaiting for competly cleansing of the shipyards.
[/code:1:a1e30d55ff]

OSNS Gwaden

Anavel Gato sits in his quarters, reviewing the information garnered on the disappearance of the Takan fleet in orbit over Eurytion. He scrutinizes the beacon’s message.

“If they expect us to take that seriously, the Takans are not as fearsome as we give them credit for.”

He watches as the network node message center blinks to life, informing him that Admiral Delaz received his report on the Takan fleet’s departure. He leans forward, waiting the reply.

Whisper Palace, Silesia

Aiguille Delaz is thankful for this small distraction that allowed him to slip away from the reception for at least a few moments. He carefully reads the message from Gato that his scomp link alerted him of. Several minutes later he begins his response.

TO: ACTING CO OF GWADEN, ACTING COMMANDER OSN MOBILE ASSAULT COM/CON
FROM: CICOSN
IDENT: VORTEX-13-ALPHA-ZEE-DELTA
SUBJECT: INTEL UPDATE, EURYTION STATUS

Gato,

The situation poses a difficulty to our plans. I will alert our lunar installations on Eurytion to keep a closer watch on our friends in orbit. We can see how much of a “biological” problem really exists.

In the mean time, I am sending you the coordinates of several Takan fleet installations we know of. I want you to dispatch ferret ships to each of them. This is to be on a strictly need to know basis, preferably only you and the ferret ship commanding officers. I want these ferret ships away by no later than 08:00, when you are on the reverse side of Sentinel. They are to use all precautions necessary to insure they are not detected at any of the locations they inspect.

Send all results to me. The Takans are the primary threat to Odessa, we cannot let their main fleet just disappear. I want those ships found. Continue on your course, Sentinel can protect you from the more detailed sensors of the Takans, you should have a sufficient launch window for the ferrets.[/I]

Delaz studies his message for just a few moments, making sure it is in order, then sending it on flash priority to the Gwaden. Once it is sent he uses his overrides to delete the message in the immediate memory, then brings for a data link. In minutes a specially tailored virus to purge even deeper burns through the network node. He waits until the short lived virus burns itself out, then withdraws the link. Even at the Whisper Palace he will take no chances that information on Odessa is easily discovered. He stands, adjusts his dress uniform, and returns to the reception.

OSNS Gwaden

Gato stands in the flight control that overlooks the battleship’s main hanger bay. He watches as the ferret ships leave. With the fleet in the shadow of the other moon of Proxima, he is safe from more prying eyes.

The tiny ships are built for one thing: intelligence work. They care dedicated sensor packages to scan as deep as the center of a solar system from the outermost fringes, and a host of sensor probes of both Ortagan and Valinor design. The only other thing the ferrets are equipped with is the most advanced stealth equipment available, modeled after the Skipper missiles originally designed by the Solar Navy.

The last ship leaves the hanger, rapidly accelerating toward a translation point, jumping toward one of the Takan bases.

Gato leaves, saluting to the marines on duty. The Admiral could not be more plain, nothing could stop Odessa, the very future of New Ortaga stood on that much.

((OOC, I need to know where you are sending those ships before I can post what you find and where))

*OOC: This Arbiter system of yours, and any other major installations or staging points you determine that I should know of.

**Arbiter**

A massive shipyard, twice the size any in the Proxima system lay silent under the cold fire of Arbiter, a young, blue star. The Ferret class ship sat quietly overlooking the massive tomb, as the half finished hulls of Takian ships of all shape and size lay in wait of further work. All ships are withdrawn towards the fourth planet, a blue and grey marble, with a dence fog of thicker than normal atmosphere. Around it, the Takian Sword Fleet lies silent, though lancing sensor sweeps are recorded aboard the Ferret as the ships attempt to keep tabs on the system. A single medical frigate lies in the protective shadow of a dreadnaught and the second flagship, the Princess Ami. A patrol of frigates and destroyers swoops nearby, missing the Ortagian ship by a matter of kilometers, and it is then that it dawns on the captian what is amiss. . . the Takian escorts are on active sweeps of the system, moving rapidly in all dirrections, as if assuring that the area is secure. . . as if assuring the protection of something, or someone of great importance.

All other shipyards and fleet instalations are barren, however that comes as no surprise, for after annalasys, the entire active Takian fleet has converged on Arbiter.

Gato stands as Delaz carefully looks over the reports.

"At the very least we know where the Takian fleet is, Admiral," Gato says.

"Yes," says Delaz. "But I do not think the Takians will keep their fleet at Arbiter indefinately. Have the Arbiter system put on the list of Fleet Intel's active ferret runs, if that fleet moves I want to hear of it immediately."

"Yes, Admiral."

"And, Gato?"

"Admiral?"

"Contact Garahau and Hellings. This may seem like a minor move, but in chess you account for the queen before moving to check. And I want to make sure that the Takians will not affect Odessa with their unending well of nuisance."

"Yes, Admiral."

Apocalypse Keep

Rear Admiral Ginias Saharin watches the subjects below him as he looks into the training arenas. He looks at the information on his data reader.

He turns to the two men behind him, one is Colonel Wolfe, his primary overseer for his own personal experiment, Project Proteus, and the other is the “man” he has appointed to be his direct second. The tall, thin man is known as Glas, one of the Valinor Academician Zakharov’s ultimate experiments, a Perfect.

“I am pleased with the progress the subjects are making, Colonel. Number 340 is holding up to my expectations.”

“Thank you, Rear Admiral.”

“When will the first group complete their training cycle?” Saharin says, navigating the information at his fingertips.

“They are scheduled for completion in two months.”

“Good, good,” Saharin looks at the candidates below him, most are of the third and second groups, but there are a few from his first group.

Proteus is his brainchild. Let Delaz and Ansel demand better weapons, more armaments and soldiers for their wars. They do not know what the new rounds of wars will be like on Proxima, the future of war on this world is not that of armies and navies, the future of wars are the battles of minds. Zabi realized that, but his obsession with his beloved psykers blinds him to other possibilities. But the 500 candidates he has assembled are still a bare number, and of the first group of these only 72 remain. The later groups show more promise, but there are still casualties.

Despite the number, Saharin smiles. Proteus is his creation in more ways than one. It’s funding carefully skimmed off the inflated budgets of his other undertakings, and the powers that be in Silesia are none the wiser. Delaz, Ansel, and the others will be surprised when he shows them the future of warfare.

“Continue as planned, Colonel. However, move up the fifth group, I want them through the basic cycle before the year is out.”

The man is still for a moment, “Yes, Rear Admiral.”

Saharin hands Wolfe back the reader, “I will expect another report when I return, Colonel.”

“Return, sir?”

“The projects at Pilgrim and Schizm require my attention for a few days. I will be departing in a few hours. In the meantime, I want you to put 340, 288, 333, 207, and 198 through the Praetorian test before I return.”

“Yes, Rear Admiral.”

“Good then. Dismissed,” Wolfe salutes and leaves. Saharin turns and walks with Glas toward the exit.

“Why, Ginias?”

“Why what, Glas?” Saharin says, the formalities gone. Glas has lead the Valinor defectors to Apocalypse, and studied with Saharin in Prokhor Zakharov’s personal playground in Valinon.

“Why do you stay here?”

“Why do you ask a question you already know the answer to?” Ginias responds.

“Because answers change,” the Valinor says in his cool voice, a voice that speaks of only curiosity and a desire to learn.

“So they do, from time to time. But this one does not. In order to breed minds and tacticians that can give my country victory in the future, they must be watched over by one who has seen the future. We have both seen the future, old friend; the future lies in the likes of us. The future is already being forged in Zakharov’s world in the polar caps. I must ensure that when the time comes, New Ortaga does not stay trapped in the past.”

The Valinor nods. They walk for a few moments more.

“I will accompany you this time.”

“I had anticipated that,” Saharin says, their steps making a carefully measured tempo. “Hoped you would as a matter of fact. I need your opinion on some issues at the Schizm facility.”

The Valinor nods as they enter the elevator to the complexes cavern flight hanger.

OSNS Pandora

Saharin stands on the bridge of the Eagle-class cruiser, watching as it rapidly accelerates, preparing for the translation to hyperspace. His personal ship runs on a skeleton crew, holding to the belief that a secret is as secret as the number of people who know of it.

The ship is also outfitted with the best cloaking and stealth systems his laboratories have created.

Saharin turns away from the view of the stars, and moves rapidly toward the astrogation station.

“If you will,” he says to the officer manning his station.

“Yes, Rear Admiral,” the man jumps to his feet, and Saharin takes the position. He carefully plots the course, and several minutes later, the Pandora translates to hyper. It begins a chaotic course of jumps that will eventually lead it to a warpgate carefully secreted away.

*OOC: Thanks Valinon for the last part of this post. Hope it is acceptable*

Earldom of Wayridge, Zabi Family Hereditary Estate

Channing Ansel sits across from Gihren Zabi, night is rapidly approaching. A ring fills the air as the two men toast twin glasses of champagne.

“To a dawn of a new age for Ortaga,” says Zabi.

“To a rebirth,” says Ansel. “The final pieces are in place I take it?”

“In a few hours, the last obstacle will be removed,” Zabi says, giving his champagne a final swirl in its ornate long-stemmed glass before taking the first sip. “Then it will be the end of this comedy of errors.”

“No,” says Ansel. “No this is only the beginning.”

Whisper Palace, Silesia

Raphael Corrin sets in his study, he enjoys the rasping sound the pages of the ancient book before give of as he turns each page. Socrates, perhaps his most favored philosopher. He rests the book on his lap for a few moments, and looks at the window with its white curtains parted by the breeze. A calm has settled over the Whisper Palace.

“A good omen,” he mummers to himself. Things had been far to unsteady as late. It had been weeks since he had been able to catch a moment like this. Quiet, away from the pressures of the Parliament, the Court, and the military. He sighs, wishing his whole life could have been like this. He sets down the glass of caffeine, the heavy aroma stimulating the whole room.

The door opens, he turns around to look and see who has entered.

“Poul,” says Raphael. “Is something wrong?”

His nephew looks strange, although Raphael cannot place his finger on what is wrong.

“No, Uncle,” Poul approaches the chair. Raphael closes the book, carefully keeping one index finger inside to hold his place.

“Then to what do I owe this honor?”

“You owe it to my generation,” Poul breathes quietly. The hand behind his back comes out, a single silver cylinder clasped in it. Surprise sets on Raphael’s face as a long needle extends as the cylinder descends. It pierces his chest, and the ruler of Ortaga tries to cry, only to find his mouth gagged by his nephew’s hand. The needle leaves, and the chair is overturned as Raphael struggles to his feet.

But as quickly as he rises, he falls, his body seems to sag inward, and the Archduke of New Ortaga falls into a jumbled heap on the floor. Poul carefully picks up the body, and returns the chair to its proper position.

His uncle made things to easy, as usual Raphael insisted that the entire floor be cleared when he wanted quite. The only guards left where those at the grav lift and those at the balcony farther down. All of which were far to easy to dodge with the Whisper Palace’s endless network of back passages and concealed corridors.

He retrieves the cylinder, “Yes, Uncle, my generation has suffered enough under the mismanagement of yours. Enjoy whatever awaits you in the life beyond.”

Outside the Hall of the Commons, 3 Days Later

Raphael Corrin had been mourned for 3 days, his body had just now been interred in the crypts of the Corrins on the grounds of the Whisper Palace. Now Channing Ansel stands before the crowd assembled before the grand staircase leading up to the Hall.

The crowd is a roaring teeming mass carrying Ortagan flags, images of Poul Corrin, Gihren Zabi, and Channing Ansel, and finally slogans that have come with the rise of the New Age movement. It is a crowd that would have put the demagogues of the past millennia to shame.

“People of Ortaga!” says Ansel over the amplification system, the crowd begins to clam. “The time has come for us to rise once more! The time has come for the long fabled rebirth of the Grand Duchy!”

He holds up a piece of formal parchment, “I have here the new law that the Commons has passed this past morning! The Kassarelia Protocols! It will allow those that are loyal to the true spirit of our nation, those that know what the true destiny of our people are, to at last remove the rot that now seeps in to Ortaga before it consume our nation! I ask that you, the loyal people of our nation, bear with dignity the momentary restrictions the Protocols call for. They are a necessary evil in order to clean our nation of the stains that dare ruin our heritage! Let us mark the beginning of this day, of this hour, of this minute as the day that we rise from the days of decadence and of inactivity. Today is the beginning of the new age of Ortaga! The day where the united voices of all of us will tremble the suns of Alpha Centauri themselves!”

Ansel steps back from the podium. The silence dissolves into applause and shouts of victory. Ansel smiles inwardly. Soon, now very soon.

Silesia, Four Weeks later

The Grand Duchy of New Ortaga is a nation writhing in its own purges. A political inquisition rises, and it has already begun to take its toll.

Two men set in a dingy café in one of the outer districts of Silesia. One watches the coverage of the formal coronation of Archduke Poul Corrin II. The crown rests on the new Archduke’s head, and the two men before him, Gihren Zabi and Channing Ansel bow on one knee. Next comes the Knights of the Order of the Illuminati, followed by the members of the military in attendance, and then by the other officials.

“And this begins our descent into madness,” says the man facing away from the television.

“Be careful of what you say, Eric,” says the older man. “Times are not as they were.”

“Be that as it may, Sir, you must leave here. It is no longer safe, not even for you. Have you heard the reports from the Hall?”

“Yes, the Workers’ Liberationists representatives that were arrested will have their sentences announced today.”

“No, not about the communists,” says Eric. “They’ve arrested Ann Lombark, Sir. And Donald King was killed last night by ‘burglars’,” the man says the last word with great distaste. “If they weren’t Zabi’s men then I will turn myself in for violating the ‘Protocols’.”

“No,” breathes the other man. “It can’t be…..they can’t go that far.”

“They have,” says Eric. “You must leave, Sir. Twenty-one others are going to get out tonight, and cross the border into Valinon. Marlow and the Green Party leaders are going to try and get a ship for Rhiannon. And I have men in place to keep the attentions of ‘His Grace’ and Zabi’s ‘security forces’ occupied for a while. But I doubt they will all get across the border, they will be suspecting that. I ask that you go to the Valinor embassy, Sir. I have already contacted Baron von Manus, he will safeguard you. Please go, Sir, your our last hope.”

“I know,” breathes the other man like he was dying right there. “I will do as you ask, Eric.”

“I will come when we are ready, Sir. Have your loved ones ready.”

“Thank you, Eric,” the older man leaves the café. Quickly, several men form a protective circle around him.

Silesia, The Same Evening

The man from the café finishes loading his family’s small amount of luggage. A young girl of around 10 rushes to him.

“Are we ready, Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, we are. Go see how your mother is doing,” the man turns to Eric and the other man with him. He nods. Eric whispers to the other man. And he goes to start the car. Eric helps his older comrade into the hover car. Inside is the man’s wife, his young daughter, a son of 14, and another son that looks to be in his late twenties.

“Jorge, look,” says the woman. The older man looks up, and stares in disbelief at the news reports. A massive mob is rolling toward the Hall of Commons and the Landing Parliamentary Hall. They surge over a small line of Military Police that have rushed to the scene.

“The diversion?” Jorge questions Eric. Eric nods.

“Such times I had hoped I would never live to see,” Jorge says. He watches as the mass rushes through the streets. He sees banners of the Workers’ Liberationists, Green Party radicals, and even banners of the United Progressive Coalition. Inside it is obvious some of the mob goes armed with more than just rocks and burning torches.

Although they are still distant from the mass of humanity, the Hall of the Commons and the Landing Parliamentary Hall seems to shrink away from the teeming mass. As if they are people afraid of a terrible disease. At a feed from the Landing Hall, the security forces employed by the various members of the House of Lords prepare themselves to guard their charges.

At the Hall of the Commons it is a different story. Security around the meeting place of the House of Commons has always been lax, for it has never been needed. Jorge watches as the mob approaching the Halls collide with a rally of members of the Commission for the Preservation of the New Order (COMPNOR). A fight ensues almost instantly. Jorge shakes his head.

“Let it be worth it.”

Hall of the Commons, the Same Evening

Channing Ansel watches the reports as the mob grows closer. The Military Police are being overrun at most places. Caught unawares, they have been unable to mount a sufficient enough force as of yet. Although Colonel Xanders has promised he is coming to save the Hall of the Commons from the mob.

“Damn you, Gihren, you pushed to hard to fast,” Ansel says in quiet rage as he hears some of the Hall’s guardians rush past his office door. The bare number of Elite Guard, Military Police, and COMPNOR citizen defense members cannot hold the mob either. He knows who he must turn to. Ansel activates his v-link.

After nearly eight minutes of waiting, a face appears.

“Your Grace,” says Ansel.

“Channing,” says Poul Corrin coolly. “I take it this is about the mob?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I request assistance to defend the Hall of the Commons.”

“It has already been done, Channing. I declared martial law six minutes ago. Elite Guard and Atlas Guard troops are moving from the garrison. And to secure the border. Gihren has informed me that the dissidents are making a run for it. I am also sending my personal guards to ensure the safety of the Hall of the Commons. I will not tolerate this wanton rebellion.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Ansel says. The Archduke’s image disappears without another word.

Near the Valinor Embassy

“Sir, we are being followed,” says the driver to Eric. Eric swears.

“How many?”

“Three cars, four ‘cycles.”

He swears again.

“Get us as close as you can to the COMPNOR protest at the Takian and Falasmayon embassies. We’ll use that as cover.”

“Eric,” says Jorge.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Look,” the older man points a finger at the screen showing the news feed. The mob is almost to the Hall of the Commons. The news feed is showing both, and new figures have appeared from the Hall. They were wearing the formal blue flowing uniforms of the personal guards of the Corrins.

A voice echoes across the Hall’s plaza, demanding the mob start or they would be subjected to any means necessary to stop them. Some of the forerunners of the mob seem to slow, but are rapidly carried on by the tidal force of the mob. The ninety-six members of the Swordmasters of the Illuminati move in a chilling unison. The formal robes fly back, revealing ceramite and skin glove armor suits. Lasguns raise to position, and the mob presses on.

The view is cut, and an official announces that martial law has been declared by decree of Archduke Poul Corrin II.

Eric pulls out a v-link, and hands it to Jorge.

“You will want to see that. One of our own cameras near the Hall.”

Jorge accepts, his oldest son and wife draw close.

“Oh no,” his wife says. Rapid explosions of light reap from the barrels of the Swordmasters’ weapons. The front of the mob is scythed aside as the stream of fire takes their forward number. Wails and cries erupt from the mob. They turn, trying to disperse, all power and purpose lost. Only to find themselves countered at the back by a massive wave of long-delayed Military Police. The Swordmasters begin to advance down the stares, still firing.

The mob reorients itself, desperately turning toward the Military Police. A group of six people rush toward four of the Military Police’s Gredamine crowd control vehicles, basically heavily armored wheeled trucks. They have bright red armbands, marking them as Liberationists. Explosions light the night, and the four Gredamines are blackened, two flip over, the other two smolder. And the Military Police respond by opening fire.

Eight minutes later it is over, over a third of the mob lies dead, more wounded. Some try to escape, finding Swordmaster or Military Police rounds, the remainder surrender. And the car Jorge is riding in and falls to the street.

Eric looks up, “Get ready, Sir. Run down the next side ally, it will take you straight to the embassy.”

Eric draws an assault rifle from inside his coat, and steps out. Jorge helps his wife out, as his oldest son accounts for his younger siblings.

“Run!” shouts Eric as he and the driver open fire on 15 approaching men. Jorge grabs his wife hand as she scoops up their daughter, his sons break into a run. They enter the ally way. Half way through, Jorge turns his head in time to see the driver fall. The next time he looks, Eric has followed him. He and his family run out of the alley, their pursuers closer than ever. Jorge looks up as they exit the alley way, he sees the Valinor flag blowing listlessly from its flag pole in front of the embassy. They begin to force their way through the edges of the COMPNOR protestors.

Shouts of “interlopers” “foreigners” and “communists” fill the air as the protesters scream against the Takian and Falasmayon embassies. At last they break the crowd’s barrier.

“Thank God,” says Jorge, as a bullet suddenly chips the pavement near his feet. 6 of the pursuers have emerged from the crowd as well.
“Run, Father,” his oldest son says, drawing a compact pistol from inside his own coat. The pursuers seem to hesitate for a moment as they see the Solar Navy uniform underneath. It costs one of them his life, and another the use of his left arm for the moment.

“Adrian!” shouts Jorge’s wife.

“Dora, please,” shouts Jorge. His wife gathers herself and they rush on. Jorge flashes his identification along the embassies stone and iron fence line security relays. They reach the gate, where four grim-faced Sardaukar stand watched. Baron von Manus erupts from the embassy with six more Sardaukar, he shouts.

“Open the gates! In the name of God open those DAMN GATES!” the Sardaukar rush to comply.

Fremont almost hurls Dora, his daughter, and his youngest son into the arms of the awaiting Sardaukar. He turns back to Adrian.

“Adrian!” he shouts. Another of their pursuers lay dead, his son turns, and his leg buckles from under him. Half of his thigh gone from a round. He looks toward his father, a vague smile crosses his lips and his mouth moves wordlessly over the din as he tries to stagger to his feet. Then his head seems to explode outward.

“No!” shouts Jorge as he starts to rush toward his son. He is stopped as a Sardaukar grasps him from behind, and pulls him on to the embassy grounds. Instantly a wall of the Valinor troops shield Jorge and his surviving family from their pursuers, enforcing that on the grounds of the embassy, the sovereignty of Valinon will be defended. The pursuers glare for a few moments, and then melt back into the crowd. The body of Lieutenant Commander Adrian Fremont is all that remains to attest to the sins of the nationalist fires of Ortaga.

Later that night

Ambassador Lady Answer sat at her desk, watching the vidscreens. One screen showed the still raging crowd of COMPNOR lackeys yelling in front of the embassy. Another was showing live broadcasts of Ortagan news. another showed a sideview satellite feed of the riots at the other embassies.

My god. thought answer, as she rubed her eyes. they've really lost it this time! Martial Law and political cleansings. she sighed. We'll we've known that the Ortagans were getting expansionist for months now. Thank God the fleet revamp was completed.

The ambassador switched off the screens and went downstairs for a meeting with her military attache. They needed to compile a report.

Takian Embassy in New Ortaga

A group of Imperial Guard stood within the embassy ground, watching the mob outside the gates wearily. Captain Pierce marched the fence line, assuring that none of the protestors crossed the line, or the fence into Takian soil. He watched as his troops hurridly constructed a series of sandbag nests, and the gleam of metal as they attached automatic coilguns to them, preparing for a worst case senario.

"machinegun nests are in place milord" on of the soldiers said, bowing.

"excelent, all troops have been assembled and issued weaponry?"

"per your orders sir, heavy weapons have been issued two per squad, shredders on per squad, and plasma flamers one per squad."

"excelent, are the Agrol in possition?"

"yes sir, as are the Squallem, should we make the example now?"

"no, wait for these COMPNOR protestors to make a mistake first. Then we can burn them. . . untill then, we are diplomats, and must represent Taka for all its. . ."

He never finishes, a rock catching him square in the jaw. The resounding crack signals the breaking of his jaw and he falls to his knees, clutcing his jaw in agony, though his training stopping him from crying out from the blow.

"that. . . would be. . . .the mistake. . ." he says, gritting his teeth to the pain, and a medic rushed to his side, already preparing a hypodermic with painkiller.

The gate slid open, and a trio of Squallem stepped out. The reptilian creatures moved gracefully through the crowd, sliding between moving bodies, and sending any who attempted to stop them flying with their powerful, clawed arms. They finaly reach the stone thrower, grabbing him harshly by the shoulder, digging claws deep into his shoulder as they drag him back towards the gate, and onto Takian soil.

Neo Kyoto

"So it has begun. . ." Fuma said, a dark smirk across his face. "Between Adam and New Ortaga, there will be a great shift of power. . . a vacume that will require a power to fill it."

"Simply assure, senator. . ." Ori said, "That you do not over extend your grasp. . . New Ortaga's ambition will be the rope tightning arond his neck. . . I will not allow you to let that happen to Taka as well. . . the Prince has blocked your demands for expantion for this reason. . . you would do well to remember that."

"Very well, Ambassador, but the Mizu clan has held power for nearly six thousand years. . . perhaps Ortaga has the right idea. . . perhaps it is time for a change."

"perhaps Senator, perhaps not, though as for me, I am happy to remain a loyal servant of the Mizu Clan."

Fuma turns, a dark glare on his face. "If you wish to be a puppet, be as you will, as for me, I will choose free will." He pulls a shredder pistol at Ori, but is met with a blinding flash as Ori's cane sword flashes out, meeting Fuma's hand, knocking the pistol flying and leaving a deep gash across his hand. "SON OF A. . . " He yells, grasping his hand tightly, glaring darkly at Ori.

"You would do well to remember this lesson indeed. . ." Ori turns and leaves, his dark blue robes rustling as he walks down the dark palace hallways."

A three bullets pierce the ground before the Squallem can cross back to the embassy grounds. An Elite Guard captain looks down at the Squallem from atop an Ortagan P-14 grav tank, his pistol still leveled at the Squallem. A squad of twelve Elite Guard in full armor jumps off the P-14.
"You will return that man to his feet now," says the Ortagan captain in a cool voice. One of the tank's anti-personal turrets moves to target the Squallem. "Or you will find that the consequences wil be most unpleasant as you are still on Ortagan soil."
The Elite Guards ready their own weapons, bringing them to bare on the Squallem. The captain continues to eye them cooly, and then calmly loads his next round. Another P-14 moves down the street, dispelling the mass of humanity before it.
"You have five seconds to comply," says the captain, eyeing the chronometer in his armor suit.

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P-14 Grav Tank

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Elite Guard soldiers

The Squallem snarled, gripping the Ortagan tightly, claws punching through his shoulder and sending rivlets of blood tracing down his chest.

"Do you wishhh to sssstart a war?" he hissed, as his fellows crowded the gates, producing a pair of las cannons and a plasma cannon.

"Put the boy down soldier. . ." a voice rings out, the commander it belongs to stepping through the gate. His Takian uniform matched with an ornate dueling pistol at his hip. He pauses for a moment, locking eyes with the Squallem, and a silent battle of will commences. At long last the Squallem drops the boy, just as the Ortagan's cronometer reaches zero.

"you would do well to allow Takian Justice to take effect. . . that boy has commited a very serious crime, and were he on Takian soil, he would be charged, tried and executed on the spot. None the less, he will face justice for assaulting a Takian officer."

"Ah, but he is not on Takian soil and he is not a Takian citizen," says the Elite Guard captain as the other P-14 rumbles into position and its own squad of Elite Guard jumps off and forms a half circle around the Squallem.

"You," says the captain in an off-hand matter, "have the following option. Turn that legal citizen of His Grace Archduke Poul Corrin II into my custody immediately, or have your men," says the captain with much distaste, "arrested for assaulting a citizen on Ortagan soil. And before I hear about the endless debate of diplomatic immunity for these....things I would remind you that Ortaga has always reserved the right to imprison persons with diplomatic immunity until such time that we have been reassured on word from their respective capital that a proper action will be taken. So, make your decision and based on that I will take the proper and necessary action of my own."

"Oh there is no need to threaten violence, I'm sure the lad has learned his lesson" The commander says, too easily backing down.

"Come along soldier" he says motioning to the Squallem. For a moment he faulters, finaly letting the boy go to run through the group to safety. The commander turns and walks towards the Takian Gate, pausing as he steps back on Takian soil.

"you know, you might want to keep this from happening again, I would hate for there to be an accident claiming Ortagan lives."