NationStates Jolt Archive

It was on a dreary night of November, that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils.

In Liberty-City, Allanea

It rained.

Rain was falling onto Liberty City Harbour, and the few couples that still walked the promenade smiled happily, looking out to sea, the city lights reflecting off their faces as water rolled down their cheeks and soaked their hair. They loved each other, and they were happy.

Rain was falling onto the walls of the Allanean Arms skyscraper compound, giving a strange tint to the glass. Inside his office, Kevin Nivensky was not as happy as the couples below. He sipped carefully on a large glass of red Greater Prussian wine, looking out into the city, the lights dancing in front of him on the blurry watery surface that was now the window glass. He sighed, and returned to reading the document right in front of him.

Rain was falling onto the windows of Minas-Faerie, Alexander Kazansky’s palace in mainland Allanea – a tall, black spire which it was not possible to believe housed only a single man – and his two wives, but right now they were in his mansion. He was looking out towards the lights of Liberty-City as well. His particular window was open, and rain drops blew in and splattered on his face. What he felt – sadness, anger, or perhaps a sense of admiration of what he had created – that nobody knew, but it would soon become clear what new plan he had for it all.

Rain was falling onto the immense dome of Congress Hall, the Menelmacari Embassy, the spires of churches and the roofs of homes. Lighting flashed over the city, and, as if in response, commercial lights shone like a thousand stars from below.

Some of them were in fact political advertisements, screaming at passers-by: SUPPORT THE KAZANSKY AMENDMENTS! – or, alternatively, STOP THE KAZANSKY AMENDMENTS!. The latter were fewer in number – it was clear that the President’s cause was popular with the ordinary Allanean – even though many interests in government would be affected negatively by them. Perhaps that was why it was so popular with the ordinary Allanean.

As a matter of fact, one of those ‘interests’ – the new Congressional Democrat Minority Leader – was giving a speech about the Amendments even at that time.

“These Amendments are not, as some Administration members claim, the new dawn of democracy and freedom! They are merely a return to mob rule, a temptation to abandon the representative side of Allanea’s democracy! They are nothing but a socialist sham to deceive the people of Allanea into the same path that brought Allanea to it’s fall! They – must – stopped! Do you hear me, people of Allanea? They must be stopped, or they will destroy this great nation altogether!”

At the Sakkran Embassy in Allanea

A single man in a strange set of clothing – what appeared to be a black trenchcoat over a set of black clothing, and a set of black wraparound sunglasses – knocked at the door of the Sakkran embassy. His need appeared to be extremely urgent, and yet he refused to explain it – only showing a set of documents that demonstrated clearly that he worked for the President’s staff. He had a message for the Sakkran ambassador, and he would only speak to him and to nobody else.

Los Angeles, New Dornalia

A lady, dressed in a similar outfit, walked into a building of Internal Security Bureau. She droped a small silvery pen on the table of one of the official there and spoke simply. “I am an Allanean spy. I was smuggled into the nation by the Al-Juhziz Syndicate Network. I would like to turn myself in. There is information I would like to volunteer to you.”

* * *

Yet, somehow, these events were related.

How exactly? That was for the historians.

OOC:

Continuation of this thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=503394) and this one. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=504886) Telegram to join.

Los Angeles, New Dornalia

A lady, dressed in a similar outfit, walked into a building of Internal Security Bureau. She droped a small silvery pen on the table of one of the official there and spoke simply. “I am an Allanean spy. I was smuggled into the nation by the Al-Juhziz Syndicate Network. I would like to turn myself in. There is information I would like to volunteer to you.”

* * *

Yet, somehow, these events were related.

How exactly? That was for the historians.

OOC:

Continuation of this thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=503394) and this one. (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=504886) Telegram to join.

The catgirl at the counter looked at her somewhat incredulously, and said in a thick accent that resembled a mashup of Japanese and Mexican, "Let me get the supervisor."

She then walked into the back, and after a few incredulous mumbles in a foreign language, the supervisor came out. A tall, well-dressed man simply walked out and said, looking about before making eye contact with the lady, "Please, follow me, ma'am." He led her to a small interrogation room, soundproofed, and instructed the catgirl to bring two things. Fresh coffee, and a People's Acolyte. This would take a while.

A single man in a strange set of clothing – what appeared to be a black trenchcoat over a set of black clothing, and a set of black wraparound sunglasses – knocked at the door of the Sakkran embassy. His need appeared to be extremely urgent, and yet he refused to explain it – only showing a set of documents that demonstrated clearly that he worked for the President’s staff. He had a message for the Sakkran ambassador, and he would only speak to him and to nobody else.

For a solid 2 mile area outside the embassy, unseen eyes watch all the comings and goings. Local traffic at this point has already been categorized, local faces and vehicles noted and recorded for their records. A flight of resin Beetles on their patrol routes flew a few hundred feet overhead, their wings making a low buzzing sound as they flew.

Incoming newface alert trajectory

Spying a new face, they lit their abdomenal lights in a sharp staccato sequence, signaling watch-beetles at the embassy, who in turn alerted the local Hive Queen, who in turn alerted the Handlers, and so on.

Damn, and we've barely got the interior grids up and running. Keep the visitor at the lobby for safety's sake until the Ambassador shows up. Is he still in his oil bath?

When the man arrived at the door and knocked, he was greeted immediately by a Grass-Walker servitor wearing her grey-and-silver trimmed raiments of position. Her eyes were at level with the man in the shades, and noted his documentation. Using mental speech, she bade him enter, shed his coat and make himself comfortable while she alerted Ambassador Ssouu and fetched him some light tea.

I wish the hot-spring was running right now. I could use a good soaking. That reminds me, mental note. Get in touch with that groundsman from Hokkaido to design the meditation grounds.

Ssouu appeared from one of the lift-tubes that lined the walls of the lobby in his black-with-silver trimmed robes of office. He made a small perfunctory bow and joined the messenger from the President's office at the table, lifting a cup of tea to his mouth gingerly. "Good cycle to you and yours. It seems you have important business to discuss?"

“’We feel that this situation will cause more problems than it will solve, and urge that this plan be scrubbed as detrimental to Allanean democracy and stability. Furthermore, without voter privacy it is easy to intimidate voters into supporting the government in power; a de facto dictatorship would exist in Allanea, with only the honesty of a few system operators and the Allanean government to prevent that, and the government, of course, has a vested interest in being reelected. That is something that the Soviet Republic cannot, and will not, politically support.’ – this is not some wild-eyed liberal talking! This a Soviet Republic talking about this! Why do the Kahanistani communists recognize a threat to our Republic when they see it, and we Allaneans cannot? What is fucking wrong with you people? Are you all out of your minds to follow in this madness?” – screamed John Friedmann.

The Secretary of the Judiciary shrugged. “It is true that the issue of privacy has not been addressed in the original report, but however I would like to point out that does not mean it will not be addressed at all. As a matter of fact, we already have a system under examination. It will be operated by non-lterable hardcut optic processor and memory systems, which will prevent tampering with the vote. Further, the system will be sufficiently decentralized to prevent a single team of maintenance men from tampering with the vote.”

He paused.

“Further, the system will be encoded to prevent privacy leaks. Please receive the following proof and demonstrations of our system capability.”

And in the meanwhile, Allanea Times printed a simple headline:

NEW DORNALIAN RAID TO BE REVIEWED BY CONGRESS: MILITARY ELITE WORRIED.

Nobody yet knew, but the two events – the Constitutional reform and the review would turn out scarily related.

In New Dornalia.

“The issue is simple. You remember what the Allaneans did recently in New Wuhan. Well, certain factions in our government – lead by some very high-up people in our government – would like the responsible generals fired or tried. Either way is good for us.”

“For this purpose, we will be trying to bring a Congressional Committee Review of the actions of the Allanean Navy in New Dornalia. This is of course where you come in. We need witnesses and military experts from New Dornalia to testify.”

In the Sakkran embassy

“Let me not mince words. Allanea has recently committed a terrible crime. Not out of any necessity – but because our navy lacks the appropriate tools and strategies to deal with foreign military threats without resorting to total war. Yes. I know it is patethic. That’s why we need your help – with training the next generation of Allanean naval commanders that are not.

Ssouu looks at the ambassador without a hint of any expression change, except that one eye keeps on him, while the other eye looks towards the servitor who keeps a discreet distance. An unseen signal seems to be sent as the servitor bows, and exits through a camouflaged doorway behind her. "I feel this matter would be best discussed in more discreet surroundings. We are in the embassy lobby, after all."

He stood up gracefully, and beckoned his hand towards a northern door. It slides open upwards as they approach, with a lift platform being the only thing present. It descended slowly, and below one could see that the ground had been hollowed out to a depth of about 50 meters in a perfect cylinder. Caves could be seen being excavated by literally thousands of resin beetles. Some flying hither and yon, bearing what looked like liquid amber in buckets fastened to their sides like saddle bags. The glow given off by their abdomens provided plenty of yellowish light.

After 30 seconds of descent, the lift paused and a hatch opened, showing a finished suite. The room was extraordinarily humid by human standards, and the sight of a tiger-striped Swamp Newt (http://www.5amfunnies.com/sakkra/Sights/newt.jpg), measuring a full six meters long and basking on a huge slate table was what would greet one's eyes as they entered. The Newt lazily opened one eye and looked at the entering pair, then closed it again and resumed snoring. "Pay him no mind. He's domesticated."

Ssouu walked over to a smaller table made of cherry-wood, and pulled out both chairs. The same servitor entered shortly after, bearing tall mugs of iced tea, then exited just as swiftly. "These quarters are secure. Feel free to expound on your earlier statement."

In New Dornalia.

“The issue is simple. You remember what the Allaneans did recently in New Wuhan. Well, certain factions in our government – lead by some very high-up people in our government – would like the responsible generals fired or tried. Either way is good for us.”

“For this purpose, we will be trying to bring a Congressional Committee Review of the actions of the Allanean Navy in New Dornalia. This is of course where you come in. We need witnesses and military experts from New Dornalia to testify.”



The interrogators looked amongst themselves, and he main interrogator said, with some surprise: "Wow."

He then regained his composure and said, "We have to corroborate this, you understand. As it is though, my government would be willing to send survivors from New Wuhan and veterans of the conflict for testimony."

The Acolyte then said, taking him aside and whispering to him, "I think she ain't lying. I can sense she's really meaning this. Not a hint of a put-on. She may mean it."

The interrogator then said, "Perhaps. But still.....let me tell somebody at least, and make the proper arrangements."

He then said to the spy, "Hold on."

The Acolyte was then left there, as the man went off to make his call....

In the Sakkran Embassy

"Yes. You may not know this, but for decades now, the Allanean Stellar Navy was operating on a premise that, in modern space warfare, enemies are likely to shield their strategic assets to the point that any weapon powerful enough to pierce the defenses of, say, an anti-orbital cannon array would also depopulate the planet proper. As such, it was deemed that you could just as well resort to total war. It is for this kind of war that the United States Stellar Navy is geared."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "In the Battle of New Wuhan, recently, one hundred and fifty million New Dornalian civilians were killed, and hundreds of ships destroyed on both sides. And yet, while Allanea technically 'won' the engagement, the damage to enemy strategic assets was light, and many of the objectives not achieved. This made the slaughter of 150 million civilians not only brutal and evil, but also completely senseless."

"As of now, the Commander in Chief has had enough with it. There is a plan afoot to get rid of the old military command and retrain the Allanean armed forces in a fashion that does not include 'just nuke the planet to slag' as a first option. And speaking of 'retrain'… that's where Sakkra comes in.

Ssouu didn't seem to blanche or otherwise react in a discernable fashion while the staffmember spun his story. He waited quietly, taking a drink from his iced tea, and at the mention of the casualties, made a small motion with his right hand over his chest.

The story was finished, and a beat passed between them. "Hrrrmmm....I see. These kind of actions could be a blight on the diplomatic circuit. Such a loss of life and equipment....hrrrmmm." The ambassador closed his eyes, and the crest on his neck flattened. "It can be done. It will be difficult for your naval personnel, of course, as it'll be different from their normal modus operandi. But if they agree to it, the training would be handled by the H.I.S.N. so I can't say for certain how different it would be."

Ssouu turned in his chair slightly, and steepled his hands underneath his chin. "You realize this request would come with a request of our own that some would find a bit of a burr? The footage of the conflict, and temporary cease-fire in present conflicts of this scale, if any exist?"

The Allanean paused. "Oh. Yes. The footage can be easily provided. In fact, the computer I have here…" – he fishes in his pocked for a device about the size of a TwenCen MP4 player – "can be used to log in to MilNet, and from there you only need to use access code 4567BA84, and the username 'sharky', and you have full access to videos of the campaign – all the thirty-four hours of it, personnel rosters, precise launch logs for every munition fired, video footage from ship bridges, the works. It's been prepared by the… people who are working with me to bring the changes about. You see, hearings on the events committed will begin soon."

The agent had no idea how soon.

In Congress

"Yes! It is true that the legislature of Allanean Nebraska has affirmed the Kazansky Amendment! It is true that Egeruo has already affirmed the Kazansky Amendment! It is true that New Idaho is voting on the Kazansky Amendment as we speak! But ladies and gentlemen, as long as this Congress is sitting, we have work to do and by God, we will do it!" – the Congressman speaking was the Libertarian House leader, George Howard Milligan.

George Milligan, of all people, had nothing to fear of the Kazansky Amendment. A Midlonian expatriate, he propelled himself into a career of amazing political popularity in Allanea, and it would be almost certain that his power would in fact increase under the new voting system.

Of course, he'd conferred with President Kazansky the night before over the phone –not that anybody actually knew this, apart from his wife. The contents of the conversation remained unknown even to her.

"As the Deputy Chairman of the Armed Forces and Motherland Defense Committee, I remind you that we have other issues to discuss! Not only the purchase of the Grim Reaper destroyers – which, I remind you all, are a crucial element in the defense of Allanea from the socialist foe – but, more importantly, a review of the events at New Wuhan!"

There was a whisper of amazement through the immense hall.

"What are you acting shocked and surprised about? Does anybody here pretend not to know that one hundred and fifty million civilians were killed at New Wuhan? Does anybody here – even the supporters of the warped and oppressive total war policies of the Command – deny that we had, in fact, lost the war? Yes, LOST!"

"Stop cursing through your breath! I know we technically forced some treaty from them and got ships and held a nice parade! But we failed to achieve our strategic goals – and yet murdered one hundred fifty million people for nothing!"

"I don't demand any heads. I demand no money. I demand only – and this is crucial – that a committee be held to analyze the events and hear out the witnesses."

A few hours of debate later, the Congress voted at 4,000 Ayes and 3,015 Nayes to hold the committee hearings.

The trap clicked shut.

OOC: Link to the events at New Wuhan (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=503394)

"Very good, then. I'll have to give a call out to Admiral Shaar and have her arrange a review commitee to look over the footage. I'm no military expert myself, you realise. After doing my Imperial Duty in the Armor Cavalry in University, I opted for the DIplomatic Sphere." The door signaled with a low 'ka-donk' sound, and the Servitor entered, bearing a tray of biscuits filled with a fruit jelly, and a cistern of hot Paroo.

Ssouu nodded as she laid the tray down. "Thank you, Pkweesh. Ah, and see if you can book me some time in the 3-Trans later today." A sharp whistle came from Pkweesh as she bowed and exited. "Wonderful girl. Ah, as I was saying, the commitee will review the footage and probably come up with a decision. I'm fairly certain they'll agree, but the Admiral is notoriously unpredictable at times. The capacity that their decision will reveal is a crapshoot at best."

He poured the staff-member a small cup of the hot, pitch-black liquid which smelled slightly like nutmeg, and a cup for himself as well. "How willing would you say, in your estimation, that the present military command staff would allow a retraining session to occur without hindrance?"

Sakkran embassy

"Extremely unwilling. Which is why the Congressional hearings are taking place, Sir."

In New Dornalia

In the meanwhile, the Allanean spy was still waiting for the reply to the call the agent made. It did not come, so far.

OOC: Sorry for the shortness, just didn't want to keep y'all waiting.

Ssouu scritched at his cheek, just below his ear-hole. "I see. I'll have to apprise Admiral Shaar to send a team used to dealing with the more ... curmudgeonly.... individuals involved in a proceeding of this nature." As he finished his statement, the servitor entered again. A moment of silence as Ssouu's head rotated slightly to look at her. "Really? How convenient. Very well, let's get it done."

He stood and bowed slightly. "I'm going to address the Admiral now. Feel free to make yourself comfortable until I return, unless you have pressing business elsewhere. Pkweesh here will see to your needs on either aspect. By your leave...." He bowed slightly once again, and turned, exiting the room.

Sakkran embassy

"Extremely unwilling. Which is why the Congressional hearings are taking place, Sir."

In New Dornalia

In the meanwhile, the Allanean spy was still waiting for the reply to the call the agent made. It did not come, so far.

OOC: Sorry for the shortness, just didn't want to keep y'all waiting.

OOC: Sorry for the wait, I had a post going but Jolt ate it the first round......

IC:

The spy didn't have to wait too much longer. The interrogator came back and said, "Well, we checked out your story with some others in the HoloNet news feeds. Suspicious bastards had to triple check everything, but I got results. We confirmed it, and my superiors will deal with it forthwith."
----------

Somewhere in the New Territories--

The sad, lonely man at the bar nursed his Rum and Coke. He wore a worn-out uniform, a Commodore's outfit, with rips and tears, plus slipshod repairs to it. He could be seen mumbling to himself, "I'm sorry honey.....I guess I couldn't do it. No, I didn't get the bologna....."

Cursing his now dead wife, most in the bar just stayed away from the man they called "Crazy" Graham. He had been the man who led the forces at New Wuhan. He quit, having resigned his commission and fled to the arms of Tiger Force, signing up with the rank of Captain. But even his own crew, made up of hardened rogues and pirates, wouldn't touch him. Some wondered why he left; even with the disgrace, not many were willing to place blame on Graham, even with the New Wuhan Massacre happening on his watch. Perhaps he felt he couldn't face the public. Ah well.

The man, smartly dressed, poked Graham. Graham said, "Fuck off."

The man said, "You are Captain Graham, Tiger Force 6 Troop, yes?"

Graham then turned to him, and said bitterly, "No, I'm the fucking Queen of France. Lemme pull down my britches and make this quick. Whaddya want?"

Giving a salute, the messenger said, "Sir. I have been sent with personal orders from the Premier himself. You are to be a witness in hearings concerning New Wuhan."

Graham then said, staring blankly into the bar, "Ya hear that, dear? They're gonna skin me."

The messenger said, a bit nervously, "Well no. You will travel to Allanea; they will hold the hearings there. Apparently, their politicians have become concerned about the actions at New Wuhan. They want witnesses and people who were there to talk."

Graham then got up and said, "Those furry fucks can go screw each other for all I care. I ain't going."

The messenger said, "Sir. You have been ordered by the Premier. And, there is pr--"

Graham then got up, and poked the messenger in the head, saying, "Listen you...."

He then fell over, looking blankly at the floor. The messenger said, "Need some help sir?"

Graham then said, looking up, "Dear? You want me to do what?"

He then grimaced, and yelled, "You gotta be kidding me."

The messenger then said, with an odd grin that said, "Holy shit!" "I'll leave you alone."

Five minutes later......Graham emerged. He then said, "If you want to take me to that shithole, lemme clean up."

The messenger said, "Well, sir, I have been authorized to provide you with a clean uniform and toiletries."

Graham then said, breaking into something resemling a smile, "Very well. This had better be good...."

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

Somewhere on the surface of New Wuhan--

Cleanup teams, both civilian and Army, were fixing what was left of the town of New Darmstadt. A thriving industrial town and home to a major spaceport, it was now...bupkis. Irradiated, ruined, bupkis.

Meiling Chaing was working with a pickax, a radsuit, and a thousand-yard stare not unlike many of the survivors. She had gone underground when word of the Allaneans forced the Air Raid Sirens. Then, she had to put up with most of her family dying of falling debris. Her father and mother gone, her little brother and her newborn son the only survivors, and her older brother crippled for life by flying metal. And, even worse, her newborn son was diagnosed to have a very short lifespan after this horror.

Yet she was used to it by now. The Army was surprised at how stoic they could be. The man supervising the work gang, Sgt. Jones, was horrified. He had to clean up several bodies, move rubble, bring up generators, and mount prefab housing and sow nanites all in one day. The work was killing him, thankfully not literally, he had a Shield Steel suit, pressurized and fully NBC protected. But the soulcrushing nature was often too much at times.

Yet Meiling couldn't afford that. If she let her feelings out, then she'd lose the will to live.

And just then, the man came. He said the Premier wanted people to speak out about the massacre. Something about how those damn furries* wanted to hold hearings because their leadership was horrified at what their military had done. Hearings? What about compensation, blood or otherwise? At least they knew that not all of the damn furries were serial killers.

Not many would stand up though. They knew, but believing was harder. Would they really be certain they'd get a fair audience? Or would they be regarded as Commie Heathens, who made it all up, and were dying of something they ate?

Meiling and Sgt. Jones did. They walked up, along with ten others who agreed. This was done all over New Wuhan, and in orbit amongst the men who had served.

And in due time, the NDBC News ticker flashed the following message.

"Allaneans to hold hearings concerning New Wuhan Massacre: New Dornalians to travel to Allanea to testify in hearings concerning the massacre at New Wuhan. Captain Graham among them, along with approximately 70 others, civilian and military."

*Damn Furries--Overgeneralizing perjorative applied to Allaneans. Derives from the crew makeup of the flagship of the attack, the Furry Fury.

A small cargo ship appeared in orbit above the New Dornalian capital. It decloaked, and descended slowly towards the spaceport. The normal cargo ship crew was absent – there would be nobody to handle the cargo of peaches that the ship was 'officially' prepared to shuttle to a small farm about four hundred miles away from Liberty-City. Instead, rough chairs (equipped with safety belts, mind) were prepared in the cargo hold.

The pilot of the ship had long, bright-green hair and a peculiar smile playing on his dark-blue painted lips, tattoos decorating his face and forearms, and a set of clothing most people would consider more fit for appearing at a punk rock concert than piloting a spacecraft. The real job of the pilot consisted of neither the former nor the latter.

For CREST Special Agent Timothy Angels, piloting a spacecraft was only one of the skills that got him selected for the mission. Knowing Chinese, Japanese, German, Russian, and Spanish, as well as being really fast with all the six pistols hidden at various spots on his body were much more important for this.

On paper, the craft belonged to Allanean Airlines – and in fact was leased from the company. In the hold, professional stewardesses dressed in Allanean Airlines uniforms (strangely based on Xirniumite schoolgirl attire) would tend to the witnesses as they came aboard – as well as if they were actually on a high-luxury flight. Only the rough chairs and the cargo hold ambience would serve to remind them of where the flight was going.

The landing location in Allanea would, indeed, be a farm – though peaches would not be in fact required on it in any way, shape, or form. The farmer, a Kazansky sympathizer and large-sum donor to the Committee for Passing the Kazansky Amendments, never mentioned seeing the ship land on his land – at least not until the story had long blown over.

There, dark and unmarked Suburban Assault Vehicles waited. It would not be possible to track them by license plates – simply because Allanea had no form of driver's licensing on a Federal level, and the state of Merkaz had long abolished both that and vehicle registration.

The drive would be slightly too fast for the New Dornalians – not only because there was no speed limit on Madison Highway, but also because none of the drivers were aged above nineteen. One of them was a kid from the Trekkie sections of Liberty-City, wearing an imitation Starfleet uniform, his head shaved partially in a Picard imitation, one was a black-clothed consumer of Jimmy Eat World records, and yet another – a beige-uniformed Boy Scout. None of them were informed of the scheme – merely hired to drive the 'foreign tourists' to their hotel.

The hotel – a comparatively small establishment known as the Final Warning – normally had very few visitors, and was suspected to be about to go bankrupt any day. An 'anonymous benefactor' renting all rooms in one day may have just given the Warning's proprietor a few months' worth of reprieve.

There, the New Dornalians would be told to await the proceedings. They were given access to all usual hotel services. After they had rested, they would be taken out of the hotel a few at a time. There, a car waited to take them to testify.

In Congress

"Mr. Sykes. You have served aboard the Furry Fury during the New Dornalian raid, is that correct?"

"Yes." – the man was still wearing the 'uniform' of the Fury's crew – a full-body high-quality fursuit with the rank badges sewn on.

"Mr. Sykes, in what rank have you performed your duty?"

"As Ensign under Grand-Admiral Louis Morrigan."

"What, in your estimate, was the strategic objective of the raid?"

"To destroy strategically-valuable shipyards on New Wuhan in order to weaken the New Dornalian effort against members of the Extra Solar Union of Systems."

"I see. Are you aware of the vast civilian casualties that your naval battlegroup inflicted during the attack?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you believe Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan had it as his main goal to exterminate these civilians?"

"Yes, Sir."

"How do you know it?"

"He had ordered repeated strategic-level nuclear and anti-matter attacks on the surface of the planet."

"Could it have been that he was targeting the military shipyards?"

"With the exception of the first attack, that involved our drone fighters detonating in athmosphere, no. In some occasions, he ordered the deliberate targeting of civilian assets."

"Are there any audio logs remaining of those orbits?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Under Naval Regulation Act paragraph 843, all orders given by a commander of a battlegroup are recorded by audio and video cameras on the bridge of a coreship, or other devices. These logs have been requested yesterday by Congressman Yates under the Constitutional Oversight Act, and copies have been provided at my personal order."

"Good. You are now dismissed from these proceedings, unless someone has further questions… Congressman Norton? A question?"

This went on, and on, and on.

Finally, after hours and hours of debate, George Milligan rose.

"Our next witness is Meiling Chang, citizen of New Dornalia."

And then there was a battery of questions.

"Meiling Chang, do you swear to say the truth, all the truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"Were you present on New Wuhan during the Raid?"

"What, in your estimate as a layperson, was the goal of the Allanean units that have operated there? Do you believe their goals have been achieved?"

"Did you lose any family members or loved ones to operations of the Allanean military? I apologize for the question, but you understand this is necessary for the establishment of the truth."

"Did you lose any personal belongings or have your health damaged by the attack, it's ecological aftereffects, or other consequences?"

"What are the effects of the attack, from a social standpoint, on the survivors in your community?"

And so on, and so forth.

[b]Elsewhere

In the meanwhile, the Kazansky Amendment was floundering. Sure enough, it was accepted in Krasivaya and New Iceland and even (surprisingly) in Axackal, but the road was still far ahead. Allanea was now split into not ten parties, but two – Congressionals and Directists. The Congressionals were apparently few in number, but they were active. Very much so.

Posters with the words Save our Republic! covered the main cities, and hundreds of people went on a hunger strike in front of the building of Congress. In Hash, the Ambivalentira, Socialists, and Democrats united to not only block the Amendment from passing, but to also pass a bill regulating homeschooling and private schools, and to mandate home inspections. In the suburbs, people were arming themselves and stockpiling ammunitions, and members of the Hash Provisional Militia threatened to 'kill any damn CPS idiot that comes into our neighborhoods.'

The New Dornalians would find out they arrived in Liberty-City just on time – three hours later, the Campus Communists of Allanea joined forces with several hundred Constitutionalists – and blocked off Madison Highway. Again.

Finally, after hours and hours of debate, George Milligan rose.

"Our next witness is Meiling Chang, citizen of New Dornalia."

And then there was a battery of questions.


Meiling told frankly, the effects of the atomic horror upon her family and many others, trying to stay calm and not become overly emotional, though she began to exhibit tears on some of the questions.

"Meiling Chang, do you swear to say the truth, all the truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"Were you present on New Wuhan during the Raid?"

She simply said, "I do."

To the next question, she said, "I was."

"What, in your estimate as a layperson, was the goal of the Allanean units that have operated there? Do you believe their goals have been achieved?"

"Did you lose any family members or loved ones to operations of the Allanean military? I apologize for the question, but you understand this is necessary for the establishment of the truth."

"Did you lose any personal belongings or have your health damaged by the attack, it's ecological aftereffects, or other consequences?"

To this, she began to tear up a little, though she kept a calm demeanor, delivering a deadly serious talk, couched in casual language.

"Well, your honor, like many of my fellow survivors, I initially thought, "Oh, they're just gonna conquer us. They'll hold a damn parade. Maybe take some of our women, or our stuff. Or try, but our Navy will hold 'em off." That's honestly, what we expected. Well, we were damned wrong. Guess we should've listened to those stories we heard about Alllanea. Cause halfway through, as we felt those bombs fall, we realized that the invaders above weren't just interested in our lands, or in victory parades. They wanted to kill us.

After all, I'd think if you wanna conquer a planet, you don't drop nukes repeatedly on a world, killing millions of innocent civilians. And to some extent, to answer your question, yes, your boys did do their goals. They killed 150 million of us.

That includes my parents. They died because of flying debris when one of many Allanean bombs hit their bunker, in the form of a flying hunk of concrete, the size of a suitcase--that is how my mom went--and a falling slab of concrete which crushed my dad, as he was trampled by a horde of scared civilians that were, pardon my language, scared shitless. It was hard to miss the fear. Even my dad was scared. He didn't want to die by being smashed to a pulp by boots, and he wished in his heart--he honestly confided this to me--that this whole thing, with the nukes and the stampede, was all a bad dream in his dying breath. And my husband....well, I did not see him after this. I can assume he is dead. Talked to his family....haven't heard a thing..."

After drifting off, she resumed her talk, trying to regain composure.

"Sorry. As for environmental effects upon me...well, I can say this. I got rad sickness as well, along with wounds that went septic and burns from the heat. I am fortunate that the doctors came. A nice man picked me up, rushed me to a temporary Army bivouac. They stitched me up, used locals and nanite healing. Still, I got a few phsyical scars, nice and long, from that ordeal in the bunker below. And a weaker immune system for a long time yet; I'm on meds for that.

Personal effects....well, I was only able to take a few things, and even then, the electronics were distrupted by the violence. Everything else was vaporized in the atomic explosion. No more house, no more family restaurant, no more Cadillac, no more Triumph Motorbike. All consumed."

"What are the effects of the attack, from a social standpoint, on the survivors in your community?"

And so on, and so forth.



"I can say this for a lot of people--this has brought them together. But it has also led to some nasty effects.

Socially, it messed everything up. No family was complete afterwards. I knew a lot of moms that lost kids, and vice versa. Sounds clichéd, but its the truth. And if nobody in a family died, then they were messed up for life.

For example, take my own family. My brother is crippled for life. Another flying piece of debris. This time, metal, from a ruined piece of rebar, lodged free when another bomb hit. It flew into the small of his back, and it nearly cut him in half. Were it not for those doctors below, he'd be dead. But he's crippled now. Can't walk. Has to use a wheelchair. And my infant son, who I just gave birth to, not but five weeks ago? He's got radiation sickness from all the rads flying about, and the doctors say he's gonna have much higher chances of cancer than a normal kid. His lifespan's gonna be much shorter after this, if he survives the rad sickness. I know plenty of others who had families go the same way. I knew children who died not but several days after the Truce, because of radiation sickness.

Also, a lot of people went crazy, if they didn't become cripples. I can list several examples. My neighbor, Old Man Newsome, went nuts. He wandered for days, asking for his wife. Army boy told him his wife died in the bunkers. Next day, he hangs himself. Wrote a haiku, said he couldn't take it anymore. And I knew several others who couldn't sleep, they had constant nightmares. Visions of fire, blood, mutilated people, bizarre, terrifying things. And some swore they heard voices. Old family members talking to them who had died in the bunkers. They would sit in front of walls, and mumble. All kinds of mental illness.

And some took it even worse. They became OCD, never wanted to lose control again. They imposed nasty curfews on their kids, hogged the showers for hours on end, and had to have everything just so. I saw a nice lady, Mrs. Holstein. Before the attack, she had been an angel to her kids, and a clean freak. Now, she keeps them locked in the house, and beats them if they even go one step from the apartment. And, she's become a packrat. She never throws anything away. I asked her why she doesn't throw away things, she slaps me, and threatens to kill me with a kitchen knife.

Do I claim to speak for all? Well, I can say a lot of people would corroborate my stories if you asked. But I can't say that my experiences were like everybody's. I just call things as I see them. And believe me, I saw a lot nobody should ever see."

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

In the hotel-

Graham relaxed in his room as best as he could. Yet the news was grim. Looking outside his window, he could sense something was wrong. Posters were all over the streets, and on the news, reports of protests were all over, some blocking the Madison Highway. Some sort of amendment that a lot of people didn't like or liked so much they felt they needed to protest, something about reforms. Well, these damn furries...Good for him.

He thought this to himself, and laughed. At least the hearings were true. He had met a nice girl on the transport, Meiling. Reticent girl, but nice. Too bad she was younger than he was.

He then sat up, and drank some of the tap water. Flopping back down onto the bed, he looked at the ceiling, and mumbled, "Well dear....it's better than nothing."

He then turned to nothingness, and said, "Oh hell. You know those...people...are protesting. And amassing guns too! I like guns as much as the next guy, but they shouldn't be mixed with emotions. This may turn ugly soon."

After a lively conversation, where Graham could be seen clearly mumbling and talking to a nonexistent being, he then concluded, "You're right dear. I'm a military man. I gotta start acting like one."

"Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan, USS Furry Fury. Admiral, do you do swear to say the truth, all the truth, and nothing but the truth?"

The Admiral nodded. He was wearing his raccoon suit – the very same suit he wore during the raid on New Dornalia. The headpiece – an ornately made raccoon's head – was resting on the witness stand next to him as he raised his hand and swore, and then began to give his testimony. It was prolonged and technical, noting missile loadouts and crew compositions, attack vectors and tactical assumptions.

Then, the more complex questions began.

"Admiral, have you been ordered to attack New Dornalia's New Wuhan System?"

"Yes, under High Command Order 456-D-508."

"Did that order include direct clearance to use weapons of mass destruction against the civilian population of New Wuhan?"

"No, that was not needed."

"What do you mean, Admiral?" – the inquiring Congressman appeared genuinely shocked.

"I am a Grand-Admiral in the United States Stellar Navy. You know well that only ten people at the current actually carry that rank."

"Excuse me, Admiral, but I do not see how it is relevant to the question at hand."

Now, it was the Admiral's turn to be amazed. The furry's eyebrows moved slightly upwards. "What? You are not aware of my authority under the very laws you pass?"

"Admiral, you could not quite expect every Congressman to be aware of every nook and cranny of every law. More importantly, you cannot expect it of every voter. Please qualify your statement for my benefit and for the benefit of the cameras."

Grand Admiral Morrigan shrugged slightly. "Sir, under Paragraph 257-B of the Military Forces Authorization Act, I am empowered to initiate Code Delta Zeta Four upon any enemy planet in time of war."

"Code… what?"

"Delta, Zeta, Four. That is the standard procedure code for complete planterary depopulation. Our allies in Chronosia, Facehuggeria, and certain other nations refer to this as 'exterminatus'."

"So, you are authorized by law to use these tactics without the direct sanction of Central Command. Tell me, for what purpose did you initiate those tactics in this particular case?"

"For the purpose of achieving the direct goals of the High Command."

"Which were?"

"In accordance of High Command Order 456-D-508, my orders were to target the spacecraft production factories of New Wuhan, with the goal of affecting the overall economy and production capacity of New Dornalia, and reducing it's ability to produce warships and equipment for the GFFA-ESUS war, and thus causing it to withdraw from the engagement."

"Did your orders motivate the reason for singling out New Dornalia for this attack?"

"Our intelligence, and ESUS intelligence, suggests that New Dornalia is one of the main supporting pillars upon which the war effort of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances rests. If their effort can be eliminated from the table, then we'll be a big step closer to winning the war for the Extra Solar Union of Systems."

"Admiral, do you believe that attack on New Wuhan had in fact served these goals?"

"You heard the previous witness. The planet was almost completely slagged."

"Thank you, Admiral. The next witness is…"

* * *

Elsewhere, in a dark security corridor under the immense building of Congress, Graham would already await his turn to testify. He was guarded heavily – a dozen Space Marines in full powered armor, two Team Dagger operatives wearing black suits that covered every inch of their bodies, and a host of infantry drones. And someone whose name Graham would never find out reached between the rows of guards and handed him an immense plasma pistol, whispering "Just in case…"

And so he entered the chamber of the investigation committee, sworn in – and a barrage of questions began.

"Mr. Graham, what, in your professional estimate, was the goal of the Allanean troops operating in the New Wuhan system?"

"Do you believe that the actions of the Allanean troops have achieve their goal?"

"Do you believe that the actions committed by Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan in the battle, specifically, the indisicriminate targeting of civilian population with the overt intent to exterminate it served the goal of High Command order Order 456-D-508, namely?"

"What was the damage to the New Wuhan factory system?"

"Do you agree with the statement that Admiral Morrigan reverted to this mode of action due to his own ineptness, namely the lack of proper training necessary to execute an attack on the New Wuhan factory system without such indiscriminate targeting of civilians?"

"Do you believe the actions as they occurred were conducive to carrying the orders Admiral Morrigan has received, or do they in fact constitute a completely senseless act of violence and murder?"

With every single question some Congressmen rose and screamed objection and abuse at the committee chairman, but it was too late. The Allanean public had already heard the questions, and no matter what would happen, it would not un-hear them.

The same applied to Graham's answers, of course.

In the Sakkran embassy, at the same time

A phone rang in the Ambassador's room.

"Good day, Sir. This is regarding the conversation you may have had with our operative a few days ago. I assume you are following the discussion in Congress with some interest, or at least some of your employees are. I believe it has been already mentioned by you that you would provide… personnel if some … recalcitrant members of the High Command would need to be… dealt with. Are you still capable of helping?"

Elsewhere

Several gravitic trucks made their way towards the House itself. It being Allanea nobody paid heed to them, nor to the dozens of people in sailors' uniforms that began to emerge from the trucks. The men thought their plan very clever and very unexpected as they deployed around Congress. Officially, they were here to add additional support and safety during the hearings. Their papers were all in order – and yet their plan was painfully obvious.

Yet elsewhere, police cruisers were approaching the homes of two of the nine Grand-Admirals. Another was kneeling in his bridge, his hands behind his head, with one of his sailors poking a pistol in his face – and holding a CREST badge in the other.

"You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say…"

Alexander Kazansky had struck first.

A phone rang in the Ambassador's room.

"Good day, Sir. This is regarding the conversation you may have had with our operative a few days ago. I assume you are following the discussion in Congress with some interest, or at least some of your employees are. I believe it has been already mentioned by you that you would provide… personnel if some … recalcitrant members of the High Command would need to be… dealt with. Are you still capable of helping?"

Ssouu looked over the cyb-organic display in his office. As it stood, he just confirmed the personnel transfers sent by Admiral Shaar and Director Thress, as well as they layout of the newly constructed embassy and its grounds. "Yes, I think we could help progress reforms that were brought to my attention. The personnel that I have requested will be here by cycle's end, quite adept in their 'negotiation' styles. They will help things move smoothly."

Two of the 'personnel' Ssouu was describing were a pair of human females. Slightly dusky in skin-tone with slate-colored hair. No outstanding features of any noticeable sort. Both were skilled counter-insurgency agents from a branch of Skeen that kept operatives in every human-populated nation known. Ssouu had a personal preference for this pair, and if he had lips, he'd be grinning from earhole to earhole.

* * *

Elsewhere, in a dark security corridor under the immense building of Congress, Graham would already await his turn to testify. He was guarded heavily – a dozen Space Marines in full powered armor, two Team Dagger operatives wearing black suits that covered every inch of their bodies, and a host of infantry drones. And someone whose name Graham would never find out reached between the rows of guards and handed him an immense plasma pistol, whispering "Just in case…"

And so he entered the chamber of the investigation committee, sworn in – and a barrage of questions began.

"Mr. Graham, what, in your professional estimate, was the goal of the Allanean troops operating in the New Wuhan system?"

Graham replied simply, curtly, and politely as he could, often giving short answers laced with anger in his voice.

He replied to this: "In my professional estimate, I would say that it was hard for me to tell what they were trying to do. I could only say they were out to destroy critical New Dornalian facilties, though they did so in a very, very dramatic way that just led to a lot of angry people."

"Do you believe that the actions of the Allanean troops have achieve their goal?"

He then said, with some pride, and a little bite, "Well, no. Not the goal as I saw it at the time. If they wanted critical facilities, then they missed the mark. Gamel Abdel Nasser Shipyard is still alive. Production facilties below are gone, but that pales in comparison to what would happen if Nasser was downed."

"Do you believe that the actions committed by Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan in the battle, specifically, the indisicriminate targeting of civilian population with the overt intent to exterminate it served the goal of High Command order Order 456-D-508, namely?"

Graham replied, with some bitterness, at what seemed to be repetitive questions, "Well, lemme think. No. It hurt us, definetly. Industrially, a little, with the death of skilled workers among the masses of innocents you killed. Psychically--dramatically, with the deaths of millions of loved ones.

However, I would say that was not the point of 456 D-508, yes? The point was to take out our war effort, and force us to leave, not make us, forgive my language, shit our drawers. Well, our war machine is still strong, and we are in the ESUS-GFFA War. Those deaths may have shocked us, and scared us, but they only made us very, very angry. That would only make us more determined to punish those responsible."

"What was the damage to the New Wuhan factory system?"


He then said, calming some as he milled over what to say, "Well, again, about the Gamel Abdel Nasser Shipyard. Your boys missed. Having said that, you did destroy a bunch on the surface. I will give you that. The deaths are not replaceable of course, and they are the worst of it. Valuable skills and people that were necessary were killed in the attack, though most were innocents like Ms. Chaing. And once again, we're not going to get much in the way out of troops, mecha, tanks, trade, consumer goods, etc. for a bit, while we clean it up. However, that's just it--though the damage is pricey, it is well within physical expense. Wonderful thing, massive government spending at wartime levels. Mental expense, however, is quite another thing. We will never forget this."

"Do you agree with the statement that Admiral Morrigan reverted to this mode of action due to his own ineptness, namely the lack of proper training necessary to execute an attack on the New Wuhan factory system without such indiscriminate targeting of civilians?"

Graham then said, with a biting voice, "Inept? Well, I would call him inept, because his actions are a clearcut case of tunnel vision. He allowed himself to become too focused on using brute force and mass murder to try and eliminate our production facilities and my ships, when he should have used his brain to get in and get out. I can certainly blame his training for that, to answer your question."

"Do you believe the actions as they occurred were conducive to carrying the orders Admiral Morrigan has received, or do they in fact constitute a completely senseless act of violence and murder?"

Graham then said, cold as an iceberg and stern as a stereotypical nun in a Catholic School: "I see his actions as a senseless act of murder. Again, I emphasize the fact he could've used surgical strikes to get our facilities. Instead, he murders countless innocents. Bad mistake on his part. It let me hurt his ships, and it also, like I keep saying, only made us angrier."

Congress

George Milligan smiled ferociously. Got you.

"Now here we have it, gentlemen, from the goddamn horse's own mouth! We've heard the Grand Admiral himself say it! And now we have the New Dornalian say it! Let the whole goddamn world hear it – the purpose of the Allanean mission in the New Wuhan system was not to slaughter innocents – but to destroy the military-industrial complex of the New Dornalians! And you know what? You know what? It would have probably been okay by most people in the room if Grand Admiral Morrigan had killed those people if it had actually served some discernible purpose for the benefit of the Allanean nation – some form of advancement of the Allied war effort! But this had never been the case!"

He paused, and then continued, now talking slowly and calmly.

"The actions at New Wuhan hold no meaning, no usefulness, no actual sense to them. They are the worst type of violence. Meaningless – useless – senseless – murder. As such, Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan is, I suggest, a murderer."

"Allanea had failed, largely, to prosecute the butchers of Yurka publicly – mostly because many of the people in Allanea view the Yurkan encounters a military success, and, after all, we can hardly be blamed for faulty Yurkan engineering. And you know what, maybe they should not have been prosecuted."

"You see, by now, the activation of Delta Zeta Four procedures is nearly the default procedure for the Naval Command – while in any sane civilization the extermination of planetary populations is a last resort, and a last resort only. For that alone – not even considering the practical consequences of such decisions – they deserve to be stripped of all rank, tried, and probably executed."

"I know that even as we speak, the President is considering firing these people. Let us tell President Kazansky that his actions are not enough. We must order a legislative review of the entire military strategic decisionmaking process…"

Supreme Court

"Your Honor, I do not quite understand… you say you issued arrest warrants for three of the Grand-Admirals? I thought the hearings in Congress were not over yet."

"Yes, but this was an unrelated matter." – judge Naragansett shrugged. – "At least officially so. I cannot be bothered to actually peer into the detail of their intricate political plots, nor should I be expected to. At any rate, the point is that I have received information from CREST that they were preparing a coup d'etat of some form."

"And you signed the warrants?"

"They had video and audio recordings, witness testimonies, the works. They're probably being arrested even as we speak."
Outskirts of Liberty-City

"Go, go, go!"

Police in wide-brimmed hats stormed out of the cruisers, taking up positions around Admiral Ferren's home.

"Admiral Ferren! I'm Deputy Sheriff Holmes, of the Liberty City Police Department, Leyhem County! We have a warrant for your arrest! The house is completely surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air! You will not be harmed!"

Therewas a loud clap as a hyper-accelerated lead slug punched through the car's hood and engine, leaving a hole that would have left Burt Gummer proud.

Then, someone screamed – "Next one goes in your head, piglet!"

In Congress

The doors of the Subcommittee For New Wuhan Investigation Hearings literally fell open. Standing in every door were a couple of sailors in fursuits, aiming immense ABR-666 rifles into the audience and the staff.

And suddenly, Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan extracted an immense pistol and fired it, twice, into his questioner's chest. The Congressman collapsed like a sack.

"Here's your execution, you vermin!"

And it begun.

The three members of the Advisory Group stood before Ssouu in their military dress. Sergeant Major Hrakk of the TacSoft Troopers, the equivalent of the Marines. Standing at 3.3 meters high and 2 meters wide, he was afforded a sufficient amount of personal space so the other two wouldn't be skewered by accident due to the many sharp protruberances poking out of his armor-plated hide. Due to those spiky projections, his uniform consisted of a sash and waist wrap of black with grey trim.

Lieutenant Sseerad of the Armor Cavalry, equivalent to the Army. At a height of 2.5 meters her uniform was a dark green with black trimming. She stood stock still awaiting the briefing. Last of them was Captain Bezzt of the Stellar Navy, the equivalent of the navy/airforce combined. His height measured up at 2.7 meters as he lazily looked around at the ambassador's office.

Ssouu handed each of them a datachit. "These will detail your mission, as sent by the command staff of each of your departments. Also included is the personality composite of the Allanean command staff, and footage of the New Wuhan 'incident' which we managed to procure. You're to look over the footage, noting any weakness or lack of efficiency therein, and base your retraining schedule on that."

He stood up, and walked over to a service table set up in the office. "Anyone want something to drink? No? Alright then..." He poured a mug of juice and continued. "Bear in mind that it's expected the current command staff will be resistant to change. You'll have to bear with that while our 'negotiators' handle them. They are military, after all, so treat them with the courtesy you would treat your own officers with. With that, feel free to take up your residences and acclimate yourself. You have a map of the embassy layout and facilities, so make use with them."

The three salute, and leave the office. "Alright, we're alone now. Did your sweeps pick up anything?" Four shapes stuck to the vaulted ceiling of the office seem to materialize, and then drop down to the floor silently. All four seem to be about 1.8 meters in height, covered in black full-body camo-web armor. "No surveillance devices found. We'll assume that native agencies haven't had time yet to try planting anything." The four pull down the full-face masks on their suits, revealing two human females and two Grass-Walkers.

Ssouu nodded his head as he sat back down. "Good. You've received the reports detailing the level of stability and all projected outcomes here, Agent Dumas?"

One of the women with greyish-black hair took a seat. An amber-scaled Grass-Walker moved to stand directly behind her. "I have. Projections show a 75% chance that some 'creative trimming' will need to be done at some point for operations to proceed smoothly. Also, I have this...."

A small datapad is skidded on Ssouu's desk, which is caught and looked over. His eyes widen just a touch, as he peers at Agent Dumas over the pad. "Temporary command orders?"

The other woman sits in the other chair, with a silver-scaled Grass-Walker moving behind her. "Straight from Director Thress to you. It authorizes you with the handling of us while in this foreign land. In essence, you are now our Director with the confirmation of this for the time being."

Ssouu nods his head. "I see, Agent Milagros. This would certainly speed things up." He afixes his stamp on the datapad as well as his SigIdent, and hands it back to Dumas. His comm pings from his aide. "Ambassador, you may want to look at this."

The cyb-organic displays comes online, with the sound of a harried reporter of some channel outside the Allanean Congressional Building. Soldiers, law enforcement officials and reporters are swarming at the stairs. Statements concerning the goings-on within are made.

Ssouu looks at the display feigning casual interest, while the Skeen agents look on with a professional curiosity. "Maybe I should contact the president's office and see what this is all about?" He opens up a vid-comm window on the display, making the call.

In Orbit

Admiral Gillings tried to dodge, to move himself out of the deadly path of the CREST agent’s bullet. For a second, it appeared he would succeed – the agend did not shift his gun at all to follow the man he was threatening to shoot with it.

Then he fired.

There was no need to aim.

The gun was loaded with several minimissiles – essentially, guided munitions only fifteen millimiters in diameter, which where simply guided to the point the firer was looking at – namely, Gillings’ body – and then detonated.

The result was... spectacular.

In the city

Fighting broke out almost immediately, in several intersections, as news of the brawl in the Congress building was spread. Some units of the Calvin County Constitutional Militia decided to side with the Congressionals, and moved out of the county on trucks belonging to some members. They continued up until the intersection of Henry Meiggs Street and Madison Highway, where they united with a large amount of other Congressionalists – truckfuls of Navy sailors, city police, and union workers in blue coveralls.

They tarried for about five minutes, having no leaders, and very little plans as to what to focus that anger on.

Then, a man that would later be remembered under the name of Frederick Sutton – a stock broker by trade – peeked out of his house window. In his mind he matched up the sailor’s uniforms with those of the sailors that were still shown by the ANN camera broadcasting from Congress – as many Allaneans, he was still transfixed to his computer screen. Seconds later, he reached out for his old-fashioned hunting rifle and fired it – and a man in a petty officer’s uniform fell to the ground.

President’s Office

“Hello. What’s going on? Well, what appears to be is that the Admiralty and some elements of Congress got together, and obviously enough are trying some form of coup. They’ve planned better then I’ve prepared – we’re trying to arrest two of them in Liberty-City, but their houses are fortified and full of sailors.”

The four agents were listening in with intelligence symbiotes as the ambassador spoke with the presiden't office.. "Hmmm...I see. It was to be expected, yes?" Ssouu looked over at the agents, who all nodded their heads in negative. He nodded his, and continued. "I'm sure your forces can handle this situation. Until then, i'll keep an eye on the proceedings via the news-feed here. Good cycle to you."

The communication was cut, and Ssouu looked over at the agents, his hands clasped in front of him on his desk. "Such an unstable place. We barely make an agreement to trade and high command stages a coup. So why is it you decided not to interfere with it?"

All four agents took turns looking at each other before Milagros speaks, fingers pointing upwards to accent a point. "A number of reasons. As has been standard imperial doctrine, we do not interfere unless it affects the Empire in a negative way. I don't think this possible coup will have any real effect. Another is that the Empire is not some galactic police force. Much like our own citizenry, you live and die by your own wits. If they can't handle a simple matter as this...... And yet another reason is that if we do intervene, how would that look to their public eye? We will not allow the Empire to be branded as power-mad bullies. And if this happens again, who's this nation going to lean on for help? Expensive help, that is. Better to hold our cards close to the chest, and see who folds first."

Ssouu nods his head sagely. "Indeed. Good points, all. But bear in mind that we just signed a trade agreement with the current governing body. If that goes to seed...." Dumas interjected at this point. "If that goes to seed, will anyone in the Herpy Empire really cry themselves to sleep in their pillows? You could either deal with the new governing body, or just maintain a presence here while we all soak in the embassy's hot-spring. Speaking of which...." The questioning look on her face is answered by Ssouu's nod of assent.

Both Dumas and Milagros hop up at that point, marching out to the door with the pair of Grass-Walkers in tow, who bow low as they leave the office. "Whoo! Onsen, onsen...." The chant continues until it fades out.

In Congress

The doors of the Subcommittee For New Wuhan Investigation Hearings literally fell open. Standing in every door were a couple of sailors in fursuits, aiming immense ABR-666 rifles into the audience and the staff.

And suddenly, Grand Admiral Louis Morrigan extracted an immense pistol and fired it, twice, into his questioner's chest. The Congressman collapsed like a sack.

"Here's your execution, you vermin!"

And it begun.

Graham ducked, and remembered that gun he was given. These guys were crazy, he knew furries were crazy, and somehow, he knew his mom was right when he said, "Son, don't you talk to them furries...they're crazy." Humorous repetition aside, he was now in a very uncomfortable place. He had a high probability of dying if he did this wrongly...but he also saw the dear Admiral was out of his mind, and if Graham didn't act to save himself, he'd probably join the questioner soon.

He quietly drew the pistol and examined it. A nice, big plasma pistol, what the gangsters back home would love. Hefty, balanced well, had a good clip...he only prayed the good guys would come.

He sheathed it, and then stood up, hand close to the gun, ready to draw at a moment's notice. He then said, making a jab at Morrigan: "Good show. It is a shame you can't make good men, just good animals."

He then drew, and fired three shots at Morrigan, before ducking once more.

-----

The hotel--

The chaos in the city was enough to make anybody panic. But somehow, the New Dornalians were even more ill at ease. They stayed in their hotel, stashed their possessions in somewhere safe in their rooms, tried to call the police, and began and began asking hotel staff for any sort of weapons, preferably either bladed, above .45 caliber, or possibly electrified, that they could use should the riots target them; barring that, they tried to search for blunt and sharp objects in their rooms to defend themselves.

-----------

Meanwhile, reports of the rioting did not escape the attention of the New Dornalian HoloNet. Reports that New Dornalian citizens were in danger in Allanea led to a demand for protection.

MacIntyre was in a bind, the Administration was holding down most of the GFFA's war effort, and was busy. But civilians had to be protected. Quietly, he ordered Tiger Force and People's Acolyte units on alert, mainly because they were available and because it would provide an opportunity to fight back against those responsible....who seemed to be perpetrating the coup anyhow. Well, double points for the New Dornalians then, peacekeeping was a good thing.

Morrigan’s chest exploded as if it held a king-size hand grenade inside it, splattering people around him with boiling blood, flesh, and bone fragment. One Congressman fell over, his eyes affected by what was seconds ago the Admiral – and was now only a spray. red, boiling.

Almost immediately, Graham would be knocked to the ground. One of the black clothed operatives that guarded him kneeled over him, and drew a pistol that looked like something of a small cannon – and fired it repeatedly. It was a soundless device – something called a Reaper 3000 Hellpistol.

“My mission, Captain, is to protect your life. Go now. The door behind you leads to the passages you have already seen. They are designed to protect Congressmembers in case of a nuclear attack. Go there. It doesn’t matter if you get lost, you need to survive the fighting. Go now! Go!”

And in the meanwhile, Graham would see, the fighting and chaos reached a new scale. Some Congressmen were leaving the room in haste, others were joining the fighting (they were in the minority). The sailors did their level best to kill as many Amenders as possible, while the latter fired back with equal determination. Dozens of guards, too, rushed into the Hall, some trying to stop the violence, some taking sides in it.

Through the building, sailors rushed through the halls, searching for witnesses and Amenders – and killing them when they could. People who escaped into the dank labyrinths below would be safe… for now.


In the hotel, the staff were locking the door and taking positions near windows, and the hotel owner pointed the guests to a locker full of rifles. “I’ve been keeping them there for an emergency. They’re basically old lasguns, nineteen megathule-range. It seems my crew doesn’t need one – can you handle them?”


In the meanwhile, Alexander Kazansky was in the garage of Minas Faerie. Standing among a line of varied vehicles – trucks, cars, even a tank – was a gravbike.

It was that bike he rode when he sped out towards the city.

He did not know that was expected.



If the People’s Acolytes were watching the body of the Furry Fury, beached in dock on the ground, carefully, they’d notice it’s dorsal armor plates part – and strange motion, not unlike an ant hive in it’s pattern, begin there.

Morrigan’s chest exploded as if it held a king-size hand grenade inside it, splattering people around him with boiling blood, flesh, and bone fragment. One Congressman fell over, his eyes affected by what was seconds ago the Admiral – and was now only a spray. red, boiling.

Almost immediately, Graham would be knocked to the ground. One of the black clothed operatives that guarded him kneeled over him, and drew a pistol that looked like something of a small cannon – and fired it repeatedly. It was a soundless device – something called a Reaper 3000 Hellpistol.

“My mission, Captain, is to protect your life. Go now. The door behind you leads to the passages you have already seen. They are designed to protect Congressmembers in case of a nuclear attack. Go there. It doesn’t matter if you get lost, you need to survive the fighting. Go now! Go!”

And in the meanwhile, Graham would see, the fighting and chaos reached a new scale. Some Congressmen were leaving the room in haste, others were joining the fighting (they were in the minority). The sailors did their level best to kill as many Amenders as possible, while the latter fired back with equal determination. Dozens of guards, too, rushed into the Hall, some trying to stop the violence, some taking sides in it.

Through the building, sailors rushed through the halls, searching for witnesses and Amenders – and killing them when they could. People who escaped into the dank labyrinths below would be safe… for now.

Graham took the man's advice, and fled through the door the agent pointed to into the dank passages below. He felt good, he had killed the SOB that had killed his wife...he could hear her congraluating him. He only said to himself, "It is done" as he ran into the depths.

He kept his plasma gun drawn, and pulled out a small lighter to provide some light. This was dark....

In the hotel, the staff were locking the door and taking positions near windows, and the hotel owner pointed the guests to a locker full of rifles. “I’ve been keeping them there for an emergency. They’re basically old lasguns, nineteen megathule-range. It seems my crew doesn’t need one – can you handle them?”

The New Dornalians nodded, and one man, who had been a reservist in the People's Militia before the Massacre said, "Hell yeah, brother. Where we come from, we're not gun shy."

Gun laws had always been somewhat liberal in the Workers State; the product of origins in a time after an atomic Apocalypse. Thus, a good number of people came into possession of firearms. The old Tartakovsky lasguns in the hands of some militia and civilians were somewhat similar to these lasguns here, though these ones clearly had a better degree of sophistication. Then again, these probably existed for a while longer than the Tartakovskys.

They snapped them up, armed them, and then took up defensive positions. If these rioters wanted to draw Dornalian blood.....

Onboard the RDSS Barilison, a Longarm class CRT Frigate

Senior Administrator Natalia Morkaedor put all of her training and willpower into one final attempt at the withering stare that had secured a spot in the top two percent of her graduating class at the Administrative Academy and served her well ever since. She pulled it off, too. It would have sent just about anyone cowering from her glare, sinking into their seat and wishing they weren't there.

But it didn't work on him.

No, he just smiled down at her from where he perched on the guide-rail beside her dais, laughing softly to himself.

She'd known it was a futile effort, of course...trying to control Traegan Stark was a bit like trying to herd cats, except even more fruitless. Traegan was a force of nature. It was pure luck on his part, probably, that made him one of the best CRT leaders that the RDS had. Probably...

Finally, she exhaled in defeat. "Fine, damnit...what!? WHAT DO YOU WANT THIS TIME?"

The damned -kid- just smiled wider, like he was about to explode from sheer restrained amusement. Then, finally, he laughed out loud and hopped off of the railing, walking to her desk.

"Oh...let's just say that you owe me..."

She shuddered at what that meant, and she knew -exactly- what it meant. Well, it wasn't like he wasn't good at it. To be honest, he was the best she'd ever encountered...but...side-tracked.

"Fine...fine. You have read the brief, then?"

The insufferable little bastard smiled again, "Sure, babe. Civil unrest in a nation we care less than spit about...why are we bothering, again?"

She glared at him, then shook her head.

"I'm not entirely certain myself, something about cosmic balance and all that jazz. Damnit, Trae, you tell -me.- He's -your- Uncle! You Starks, you're all insane...I swear. Don't know who thought it would be a good idea to put you lot in charge."

He laughed his laugh, which was utterly charming and all the more infuriating because of that quality. "Well, the short answer is that we did. The long answer is that we don't really know. Anyways...I suppose that if Uncle Dys is involved, that means I've got unexpected reinforcements?"

Natalia sighed, "Quite." Then she touched a stud on her control chair and admitted three individuals into her office.

Traegan looked them over then sighed resignedly...

"Well, that explains a lot."

The first of the new arrivals laughed, it was an odd sort of laugh, cultured, attractive, but with this definite undertone that the laugher was quite capable of killing everybody on the entire ship given the excuse. Which was a very odd undertone for a laugh to have. But, then, Caspian Del'Riva was a very odd person, indeed.

Caspian Del'Riva held an official rank of Colonel, after that things started getting nebulous. The only thing certain about his place in the chain of command was the he was subservient to the Warprince.

Trailing Colonel Del'Riva was Ashley Relaran, daughter of Sero Relaran, High Chancellor of Revenia, and Traegan's on-again off-again girlfriend. At the moment, they were off-again, thusly the sight of her brought Traegan a certain amount of distress.

Finally, the third member of the little group made Traegan even more uneasy, if such a thing was even possible. His cousin, Thomas Stark, smiling in that blissfully ignorant way that he had. Utterly terrifying if you knew much about him, which Traegan did, albeit he probably shouldn't, considering his official rank was merely 'Field Administrator,' and one didn't get in on the really juicy conspiracies until was well up in the ranks.

Traegan forced himself into a state of false calmness, then managed, through heroic effort, a smile. He turned his head to look down at Natalia, and the words "I will get you for this" were quite audible, if you were close enough, and listening for them.

Caspian walked right on up to Traegan and patted him on the shoulder, "Buck up, lad, I promise that this won't be anything like last time."

Traegan let out a little squeak. Last time...had been beyond horrible. Even the damned Allaneans couldn't be that bad, right?

One hoped.

Caspian smiled in that way of his, "Alrighty...suggest we drop shortly. Prep and go in, oh, say...two and a half?"

Nobody said anything, they merely scattered to attend to their own individual needs until it was time to reconvene in the frigate's drop bay.

Caspian was dressed as he usually was, in a black duster worn over a tailored dress suit that covered, as Traegan well knew, an Ascended thinsuit. He had a Warblade of the backsword pattern at his left hip, and undoubtedly carried a plethora of other nasties on his person.

Ashley wore an immaculate pants-suit, perfectly arranged, as with everything she did. Traegan knew from experience, but could not have pointed out visually, that she had at least two pistols about her, and probably twice that many knives.

Thomas was dressed as one would expect him to dress. He wore a flat black form-fitting skinsuit that was standard dress for his 'kind.' It wasn't the full-out shadowsilk sneaksuit that they wore when they were going 'active,' but it was the next best thing.

He didn't even bother concealing the paired APSP and dart shooter that wore in thigh holsters, and his fighting knife was sheathed grip-down on his left arm.

Traegan himself wore the white robes of an Administrator over a suit of CRT low-profile battle armor. His warblade rode his left shoulder, and he had an APCP in a thigh holster beneath his robes. He carried his tri-staff in his right hand. That was enough.

The four individuals nodded lightly and boarded the CRT combat car that would provide their transportation once on the ground. It was painted gleaming Administrator white, and the three turrets with their twin-mount tribarrels were hidden behind white bubble-shields.

Traegan took the driver's position, while the other three sat a turret each. Then things started moving, the combat car being carried free of the CRT frigate by a gleaming white RDS lander. The message it broadcasted was simple enough, detailing that the current...problems...in Allanea, and my weren't the Directorate lads efficient?...threatened Revenia's military base, currently not held and non-established but still existant, in theory at least, and thus an RDS Crisis Team was being dispatched to...ensure that Revenia's interests were not infringed upon.

Or something to that extent.

There was also a footnote that any objections should be directed to the office of Vice Admiral Daniel Cook, commanding RSN Solar Battle Group, onboard the RSN Changer's Way. Which was the Revenian way of subtly hinting that it was a -very- good idea not to object, because the next group of people who came to ensure that Revenian interests weren't infringed upon were going to be wearing power armor and unlike their comrades in the Federation, weren't much interested in ethics, per-se.

OOC: This troops would have gotten there, how? I’m sorry, New Dornalia, I don’t think anybody would have let you to just land droops within ten-twenty miles of my goddamn national capital. It’s not some minor thing, it just doesn’t make sense for me to just let troops from a nation that I just had a war with into my nation. Oh, and if nobody got it yet – the fake Necrontyr is lying.

IC:

As Graham would walk through the corridors, he would heard a strange noise – as if a collective chanting – and perhaps voices, carried further by the acoustic conditions then those who were speaking really wanted them to. ‘Are you sure this will work?’ ‘Yes, it’ll be bound to our will by this spell. It’ll do away with Sasha. And an elected President will… listen to us more.”

There was laughter, and then a strange crackling noise.

* * *

Somewhere in the bowels of the tunnel system, a chamber was chosen for a strange ritual. The walls and floor, previously barren, were splattered with blood and strange insignia. Now, the signs began to glow. According to the arcane instructions, Congressman L. Jules, Grand-Admiral Firen Sanchez, and their seven accomplices only had to wait for ten minutes after the completion – and then, the Being would arrive.

And it did. It appeared as a woman, naked – and yet clad in an powerful light, her eyes glowing in a strange, eerie glow.

“Greetings, fools. I see that the basic tenet of the study of texts is unknown to you.”

The cultists merely looked on in horror.

“First – examine who wrote the text. That applies to magical rituals, too. Especially to the rituals.”

The Congressman gulped in realization – just as the Being simply stepped across the border of it’s restraining-circle. “You see? I wrote the ritual myself. I knew that, somewhere in your feeble nation… someone would eventually be… naïve and stupid enough to summon me.”

“What the…”

The Admiral did not finish – the woman grabbed him by his ears and then moved her fingers across his face, leaving long, wide cuts in his cheeks. Then she peeled him like a living - and screaming – orange.

The others were not allowed the luxury of screaming their pain.

Fifteen seconds later, she was standing in the middle of the room, blood her new garment. None remained alive in the room but her – and Javivalentira was never truly alive.

She grinned sadistically, and a ripple of transformation came through the demonic body. Her skin turned blue, her hair shortened, her ears became pointed, and eventually her body became clothed in what appeared the latest Menelmacari fashion. Then, the Being – looking for the world like a blue-skinned elf – smiled once more as a single oversized pistol appeared on its thigh.

And it walked out of the room.

* * *

It’s difficult to pack human beings – they need space, they need to breathe, eat, and so forth. Thus there’s a limit to how much you can pack them like sardines. It’s not so with robots. Even with some packing material inside, you could full a room with robotic soldiers floor-to-ceiling, and they’d be all nice and clean and ready to fight if you unlock the room a century later – assuming they didn’t go rusty and all.

The final example of this were the Allanean coreships – eleven kilometers in length, each of the monster ships (really more of a mobile battlestation) carried literally a million of combat drones – everything from humanoid light-infantry drones to the infamous Sec-2 robots and Sec-3 tanks. It was these robots that were now streaming out of the Furry Fury and down from the orbiting battleships, and towards Liberty-City.

A steel wave was coming.

It swept through the streets, unopposed, yard by yard towards Congress. It did not fire, and was not yet fired at. And yet it appeared that somewhere, a string has been stressed to it’s limit and was about to break.

* * *

Things were not turning out well for the Congressionals in the streets. Admiral Ferren’s house was still holding on, full of loyal sailors and men, and dozens of policemen were lying dead in it’s yard, on the sidewalk, and on the road itself. Admiral Rhodes was dead though – he thought all was over when the arresting police came, and simply shot himself in the head. They didn’t mind – his cowardice saved them a lot of paperwork.

Grand-Admiral Farrano tried to enter the city from Roark-Street, and was shot to ribbons by a team of Marines. Grand-Admiral Likhin was cut down – literally - by President Kazansky’s own sword as his gravbike took him through the city.
Kazansky went on, sword in hand, towards the building of Congress. Through the city, there would always be some people – though not even a majority of Amenders – that would gather behind him. But they were enough.

They tore through the sailor patrols outside Congress - mostly just by driving through them and not stopping to fight. Some sailors did remain lying behind – but such is the nature of this world, cruel and yet beautiful as it is. As Kazansky would put it – some people just need shooting. Twice.

He and his men stopped their vehicles at the bottom of the stairs that lead up into the building of Congress. There were several sailors – and their raised their rifles, aiming them at the men behind Kazansky.

Regardless of their opposition to him, he was still Alexander Kazansky, founder of Allanea. They would not shoot at him.
He drew what appeared – and was – an immense melta pistol, aiming it at the sailors with one hand, raising his sword in another.
There was a dull ring as the sailor’s heavy rifles hit the ground.

“Good.” – Kazansky smiled… and then his smile disappeared.

The doors of the Congressional building opened wide and a Necrontyr, dressed to the last squeak of the Menelmacari designer fashion, wearing a pistol that can stop a tank with one shot on his hip, walked out. He was proud of himself, smiling confidently.

“Greetings, Mr. President.”

“Greetings… governor.”

“Would you like to kill me now, Mr. President?”

Kazansky gulped, and then grinned. “Oh, are you making a request? I can oblige, governor!” – he brought the melta gun to bear.

“Well, not really. Rather, I would like to remind you that while I am now in your power completely, killing me is not advised.”

“…I wasn’t intending to kill you until you brought it up.”

“Right, this is why you aimed this pistol at me so willingly. I suggest you lower it. Better yet… drop it.”

Kazansky holstered the weapon, but did not drop it. “No. I suggest you do not continue insulting me in this way, Governor.”

“Oh, shut up. Just do what I say – pack up, go home, and let the Congressionals have it their way.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Oh, you misunderstand. You know I am here on a mission from my Superior. I am here to instruct you that the Congressionals are to remain… in their position.”

“Tell your Superior to fuck himself with a bargepole, Sharan. They don’t run this country.”

“Oh, Alex, that’s awfully unnice of you.” – the Necrontyr thumbed the safety of his pistol off.

Still, Kazansky hesitated - after all the Necrontyr couldn’t truly kill him, and what would the Menelmacari think if he just shot him here?
What about…

He never heard himself whisper:

“Oh God… Miriel is watching this!”

“She just might be. And it wouldn’t look good for her if you just shot me in the head. She thinks you’re an obsessive stalker-mentality idiot, anyway. Wouldn’t do to reinforce it, Sasha.”

Kazansky’s grip tightened on his pistol.

And then the Necrontyr began to draw.

OOC: This troops would have gotten there, how? I’m sorry, New Dornalia, I don’t think anybody would have let you to just land droops within ten-twenty miles of my goddamn national capital. It’s not some minor thing, it just doesn’t make sense for me to just let troops from a nation that I just had a war with into my nation. Oh, and if nobody got it yet – the fake Necrontyr is lying.

OOC: Thought the remains were at New Wuhan still....lemme fix that, my apologies.

'Good Night, ya moonlight ladies...'

Traegan sang along in that syrupy voice of his, as he guided the combat card off the lander and onto Allanean soil.

Meanwhile, in the back, Caspian Del'Riva was writhing in minor pain. Ashley was clutching his silver-haired head to her chest and rocking him back and forth...quite unusual, she was usually not the type of girl to care about much of anybody...but...

Caspian's quicksilver eyes flared open, glowing with an intensity that meant only one thing: there were souls to be taken, and the Hunt was ON.

You see, Caspian Del'Riva was quite a bit more than he appeared to be. He was the last living Soulstealer, which was something like the Ascended version of a bounty hunter, except they generally hunted 'godlike' individuals. In fact, Caspian had been to Allanea before...

At his hip, his Warblade purred like some sort of content cat. It knew that it would be fed soon, and it was quite content with that knowledge.

Soon. All too soon.

IC:

As Graham would walk through the corridors, he would heard a strange noise – as if a collective chanting – and perhaps voices, carried further by the acoustic conditions then those who were speaking really wanted them to. ‘Are you sure this will work?’ ‘Yes, it’ll be bound to our will by this spell. It’ll do away with Sasha. And an elected President will… listen to us more.”

There was laughter, and then a strange crackling noise.

* * *

Somewhere in the bowels of the tunnel system, a chamber was chosen for a strange ritual. The walls and floor, previously barren, were splattered with blood and strange insignia. Now, the signs began to glow. According to the arcane instructions, Congressman L. Jules, Grand-Admiral Firen Sanchez, and their seven accomplices only had to wait for ten minutes after the completion – and then, the Being would arrive.

And it did. It appeared as a woman, naked – and yet clad in an powerful light, her eyes glowing in a strange, eerie glow.

“Greetings, fools. I see that the basic tenet of the study of texts is unknown to you.”

The cultists merely looked on in horror.

“First – examine who wrote the text. That applies to magical rituals, too. Especially to the rituals.”

The Congressman gulped in realization – just as the Being simply stepped across the border of it’s restraining-circle. “You see? I wrote the ritual myself. I knew that, somewhere in your feeble nation… someone would eventually be… naïve and stupid enough to summon me.”

“What the…”

The Admiral did not finish – the woman grabbed him by his ears and then moved her fingers across his face, leaving long, wide cuts in his cheeks. Then she peeled him like a living - and screaming – orange.

The others were not allowed the luxury of screaming their pain.

Fifteen seconds later, she was standing in the middle of the room, blood her new garment. None remained alive in the room but her – and Javivalentira was never truly alive.

She grinned sadistically, and a ripple of transformation came through the demonic body. Her skin turned blue, her hair shortened, her ears became pointed, and eventually her body became clothed in what appeared the latest Menelmacari fashion. Then, the Being – looking for the world like a blue-skinned elf – smiled once more as a single oversized pistol appeared on its thigh.

And it walked out of the room.

Stumbling about the dark, Graham stopped and hid in an alcove, hearing the chanting, then the commotion, and then the nothingness of the ritual. He was horrified at the lengths these damn furries would go to try and secure their grip on their power. Communing with dark forces now? Jesus. His mom was right.

He held his pistol low in front of him, and began walking carefully, lighter in the other hand. He prayed his pistol training would keep him going, and he prayed he had not gone soft.

As he walked through further, a little up ahead, he dropped his lighter...being a zippo-type, it didn't quite go out as it hit the ground. As he was moving to pick it up, he noticed movement, the faint outline of a woman. Picking up the lighter, he caught a glimpse of her in the light.

Normally, he'd stop and ask, but in this situation, he felt that shooting first would be best. Somewhat surprised at this reaction, he thought to himself, as he rolled into cover and peered out, "She had to be involved with the ritual somehow. Not one of my witnesses, and by the sounds of the voices I heard, this has to be one of those Congressionalist fucks, not the good guys" as he raised his gun and fired at her, leading his shots.

Caspian flipped the visor of his command circlet down and called up the tracker readout, all of this controlled by simple thought -- he had the 'Subjugator' mark of the CI implants. At any rate, the Directorate did a very good job of making sure that the tracker databases were updated, but, really, this was just a formality.

There's a closeness that you get when you take someone's soul that is of a level achievable only in mythical stories about twins and warrior brotherhoods. It isn't intrusive at all, but if you think about it, you can know where these people are, what they're doing, so on.

So that was one item down. Item two was explained even simpler by the simple rune-encrusted black iron ring on Caspian Del'Riva's right middle finger. A ring that identified him as Kal-Kree-Kas. Moreso, the stylized spear, really just a triangle with a line sticking out of the base, marked him as holding a unique station: that of 'hunter.'

There were a fair number of hunters, but Caspian was something more. He was 'The Hunter.' Capitals. Meant a lot of things, but the things that were pertinent to the situation were blatantly obvious, anyways.

Caspian smiled and leaned back in the lightly padded couch that ran the middle of the combat car's fighting compartment. Well, 'leaned back' was a bit off. More of 'slouched a bit further.' Then he took his flute from its case and started up with the first few notes of the March of the Forsaken.

Such was life...such was life...

Ashley, surprisingly, was the first to ask for an ETA. Traegan estimated the answer at roughly twenty minutes, provided he could maintain his current speed and things continued as they were -- unbothered. Allanea was kinda nice, when the people getting shot at were other people.

Suddenly, ‘Sharan’ tilted forwards, the explosion of the plasma charge literally ripping his torso open. He dropped the pistol, and fell to the steps of Congress – and then, unbelievably, the ‘necrontyr’ rose again, his body reforming before Kazansky’s very eyes.

“Very nice… governor.” – Kazansky smiled.

The entity screamed.

It was not merely loud. It was a high-pitched, penetrating scream of hatred and frustration that sent waves of fear through every Allanean that stood in the square. Instinctively, both Amenders and Congressionals rushed back from the steps, clearing the stage for the monstrous drama that the demon-thing had planned.

It walked towards Kazansky, it’s features now no longer the features of the Menelmacar Imperial official. Instead, the demon’s face flowed like quicksilver, it’s hair was longer and longer, and it’s skin changed color – until it’s true face became evident.

Now, the crowd parted like the very Red Sea in Jewish legend – for they recognized Javivalentira.

Greetings, President. You know me already. I have already nearly destroyed your nation once before… I have already come near to killing you once – and - this time – I will not be denied!

* * * *

The Navy’s droid detachments swept through the streets unopposed – both because nobody knew which side was using them, and, more importantly, because the tip of the spear was provided by 01MC Security-2 and Security-2 robots. Just like Sharan, Governor of Delta Zeta Four, was the personal nightmare of Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky, these robots were the very image of horror for many Allaneans – both those who remembered the One Day War and the carnage that ensued from memory, and those who learned about them from stories about the occupation.

Still, people react differently to fear. Some freeze in horror, others run in shame, yet others fight. Sometimes, a manportable launcher would bark fire and hyper-V lead towards a towering Sec-2, sometimes a window would open and an M-Grenade would be tossed into a formation of AAC drones.

The survivors did not fire back. They were too many to be truly defeated by such attacks, and they simply pressed on to the heart of the city.

* * * *

A sword appeared in Javivalentira’s hand, long and glowing in a mysterious flame. She laughed as she plunged the sword towards Alexander Kazansky’s heart.

And he fell.

He fell a second before the sword would enter his body, letting the blade cut through the thin air, and rolled out of the way before the demoness could slash at him again. By the time she turned to him, he pointed the melta pistol at her and pulled trigger three times, fast.

He missed. The she-demon was thrown back in a hail of broken marble and a swirl of fire. When she rose, the boy laughed.

“You’re wrong, Javivalentira. I know not what foul magic leads you to try again, but you are doomed. The last time someone destroyed my… mortal body, I was weakened and facing multiple foes, and Allanea was near-destroyed already – and yet I retuned, and I brought the nation back from the abyss, and I defeated you in single combat.”

She roared and lunged again, and this time, the boy merely jumped towards her.

All Javivalentira could see was his boot, cutting across her field of view in mid-air, and then there was a blinding pain.

“Now, I’m quite a bit stronger.”

She roared – a long, hideous scream of powerless rage. Even her mortal form could feel pain – and right now, she was feeling it. And Kazansky drew his knife.

* * * *

“Oh my God… these things are hideous!” – gasped Ensign Torrez as he saw the Security drones plow through Madison Highway. – “What have we done, Sir?”

Grand-Admiral Lucinda Guttierez paused. – “Nothing special. It is just another tool in our struggle for the preservation of the Constitution.”

“With the price of releasing Security drones on peaceful Allaneans, Admiral? What’s the point of the Navy if we do the very same thing to our citizens as the Sentient Federation did?”

“You…” – Guttierez choked with rage – “I will have you court-martialed!”

The ensign shrugged – and then reached under his arm for half a second.

The pistol he drew was so big it’s barrel was nearly touching Lucinda’s face. “No.”

He knew, as she did, that ‘court-martial’ in this case would mean execution. Now, the ensign decided that it was time to adjust the important detail. The question of who precisely was going to be executed.

Lucinda started to speak, but perhaps the Ensign was too nervous, or the trigger on his pistol too light – but half a second later, her body, neck, and the lower half of her head were lying on the floor, and the rest of her was so much vapor.

Now, the Ensign was in the bind – the Congressionalists would surely do something horrible to him for killing the Admiral – and the Amenders for aiding the Congressionalists. Unless, of course, he did something truly wonderful for them.

Torrez got behind the controls.

Seconds later, the steel waves rolling towards the heart of Liberty-City simply halted – thousands of robots, drone tanks, infantry and engineering drones stopped, and became steel statues, menacing – and harmless.

And yet, for many Congressionalists, the mere fact that the Admiralty had deployed these weapons was enough to feel disgust at their own cause – and while they did not turn their arms on their own side, many simply went home or surrendered.

Four of the Admiralty members were still alive, and still fighting the Amenders – but thanks to Ensign Torrez, it was now meaningless.

The battle for the Capital was over before it begun.

* * * *

Javivalentira was now on top of him, trying to reach for his throat. For a second, her face turned into a Necrontyr face again – she was trying to put him off-balance, scare him into do something wrong – but now that he knew she wasn’t Sharan, that only drove him angrier. His right hand clasped on the fake Necrontyr’s throat and pushed him back. With his left hand, Kazansky wielded the Bowie.

Javivalentira was literally thrown off by the immense force of the blow, and Kazansky rose again to look at the demoness, prone on her back, screaming in pain and horror at the ten-inch blade embedded in her foul heart. Again she was changing shape for some purpose - perhaps hoping against hope that the Necrontyr visage would somehow disrupt Kazansky's determination – but it no longer mattered as Kazansky leveled the melta pistol at her and pulled the trigger six times.

Goodbye, 'Governor'.

There weren’t even ashes left. Only the knife, for some strange reason, remained lying where the monster was but a second ago.

Kazansky grinned as he picked up the strange knife.

“Now who was it who shot the monster first? If it were not for him or her, I would never have known it wasn’t the Necrontyr dude. I believe I have some thanking to do.”

"GRAAARGHAK SHEVRAKRAARKALDARAKTEKNAAA!"

The sudden outburst took the other by surprise, mostly because it was utterly foreign to them. This was because Caspian's outcry of pain was in High Ascended, a language that the others had never been properly taught.

Caspian slumped forward, his elbows falling onto his knees and his head dropping into hand, his flute falling to the clang against the combat car's floor.

Then he fell over sideways, his body sorta draping over the couch - he was out like a rock. Or so it appeared. In truth, he was elsewhere.


'DAMNITALL! What in the name of the Two Faces of the All-Maker was THAT?'

The voice that answered was instantly recognizeable as that of his liege-lord, the Changer himself.

"'That' was children playing with forces beyond their ken. There was a time when such things were kept from happening, and that time will come again, but for now...for now, old friend, it is ours but to limit the run-off as much as possible."

Caspian's mind-self looked up at the shadowed image of his friend and lord, for here, in the world of their minds, there could be no secrets, and the tortured soul of the greatest of his kind was painfully apparent to the Hunter.

Caspian bowed his head slightly, "I take it you have further instructions?"

Dysaryn Stark nodded, "Continue to that...plot of land we reserved ever so long ago. See what the devil happened there. Be on the watch, Caspian. Would that I had had the time to beat some sense into that imbecile, but spirits of the land cannot exist away from their homes for extended durations. Fool that I was for not seeing that. This is not over, yet. Not a chance. You cannot just...kill...something like that."

Caspian bowed his head a bit further, "As you say."


Caspian's eyes opened, and he spent the few moments necessary to calm his companions down. Then he checked with Traegan, and determined that they would arrive at the plot of land that had been purchased at such horrid price so long ago...shortly.

Then the four individuals would go about their very separate missions.

Caspian retrieved his flute and returned it to position, then set into Vadragasta Blackstar's Snowstorm Suite. One could remove the Ascended from his homeland, for a time, but eventually...the land changed to suit the Ascended. It was proof, perhaps, of the morphic nature of reality.

Deep in the bowels of the Sakkran Embassy, newly completed with that fresh embassy smell to it, the three members of the Reform Commitee looked at the footage from a number of perspectives, listened in on the digital logs and tallied their figures. Hours passed into days as the three military heads did their numbers.

The first footage played again of the Allanean crafts entering RealSpace near the colony of New Wuhan. PDAs before them crunched out numbers as Capt. Bezzt hrrumphed for the umpteen-millionth time. "Look at this overkill. Such a sink in maintanence and manpower. This kind of skirmish could cost trillions. Far too inefficient. A couple hundred ships with precise training and accuracy could have accomplished this. Less than that, even."

The footage of the drone-swarm on its kamikaze runs. "Ludicrous. Even unmanned, the resources used to engineer, maintain and use this equipment...and to have it thrown away like chaff."

Lt. Sseerad squintted his eyes as he looked at the data. "You're still ignoring a crucial point. Their intel was incomplete from the start. How could they miss a whole minefield, let alone having inefficient sweeping measures against such an antiquated threat? Clearly this will be a bottom-up operation."

Capt. Bezzt continued. "Of course the intel was flawed. Do you think complete intel would matter to that wreck of a commanding officer? They ignored standard modern tactics; he went at it like a 20th century cavalry charge. There was no destructuring of command protocols at all. Not a mote. Definitely a bottom-up operation."

Sergeant Major Hrakk screeched in his interjection, his mouthplates grinding together like chalk on a blackboard. "Agreed we all are. Bottom-up. Military discipline trained well; tactics and mental strength leaves much desired. Disturbed commanders followed by mindless troopers means bad medicine for military."

All three nodded their heads as one and continued their research.

Four hours later

“I want you to secure the place of the explosion with more riflemen.” – said Kazansky.

“But Sir… isn’t she dead?”

“That’s what you thought the last time. No. She’s like me. She can’t be… simply killed like that. We destroyed her current body. That’s very good. That keeps us safe, for now. But… she’ll be back.”

Kazansky paused. “What happened to the Admirals?”

“We got one of them. Arrested in his home. He surrendered when the robots turned off. Three more to go.”

“Very well. What’s happening locally?”

“Not much, Sir. There’s been some violence, some Hashi state officials shot, but nothing that really affects things. Also, we had several state legislatures hold emergency sessions to approve the Amendment.”

“Let’s hope that’ll fall through.”

“Also, Sir, we have rumour that a Revenian Ascended has been seen in the city.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause.

“Well, try to locate him. I’d like to speak to the man.”

In the meanwhile, large trucks began to move towards a secluded spaceport in Merkaz, filled with the proverbial young, excitable Allanean men and women, aged fourteen to eighteen- the full staff of the Allanean Naval Academy, the future officers and captains of the Allanean ships and pilots of the Porcupine craft. They were the vanguard – in the following days, vast amount of cadets would be sent to the port from all of the major state-owned academies.

Alexander Kazansky was about to make an unbelievable gamble. Even as the dead and the wounded – literally hundreds of people had died in Congress Hall in the shootout – were being hauled out of the building, he already typed off a missive to the Sakkrans.

It said simply:

I am entrusting to you our future. Coordinates XX-45N-F. Yours. Kazansky.

In the meanwhile, news came that ten state legislatures, moved by the Constitutionalist attempt of a coup, voted Aye on the Kazansky Amendment.

Ambassador Ssouu received the message from Kazansky's office, and looked over it repeatedly with what amounted to a look of sly enjoyment. Their future is in our hands, eh? What an interesting string of words to put together..... A palm-pad was touched, bringing up a vid-display with the three heads of the Military Reform Committee. "I've received your staff recommendations for this venture, and have approved them. They've already arrived and have been briefed via standard imperial doctrines. Several M.C.U. pods have been dispatched as staff quarters for the duration of this. You may depart at your earliest convenience."

The three heads saluted as one with a cry of 'Yo' coming from their collective mouths before their displays blinked off. Ssouu turned in his chair and said 'Enter' as the two human agents, in area civilian fashion, entered. "How do things look outside from the street's point?"

The two sat down in chairs opposite Ssouu. "Hard to guage. Seems some are relieved for the new times coming, some are wary. Lots of interesting talk going around."

Dumas chimes in at that point. "All sorts of interesting uber-beings are making their appearance these days around here. The president of this place knocked one off himself. A parade of mechanoids marched about for a time before stopping dead in their tracks. This place is crazier than a shit-house rat gone blind." The ambassador cupped his hands over his head. By the Pantheon, why do I get all the ridiculous assignments.

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

Coordinates XX-45N-F

The 12 Reptavian drop-ships, receiving their clearances and so on, dropped off 12 Mobile Command Unit pods in the appropriately-sized clearance. Each was the size of a two-story dome-shaped house and could accomodate six Sakkrans comfortably. Except for the presence of persoanl armor and weaponry, as well as a glut of sensor and communication equipment, one could have a pleasant dinner party here. This was in six of the M.C.U.s. The other six were stocked full of VR equipment, files, statistics and all manner of materials covering philosophy to anatomy.

Capt. Bezzt, Lt. Sseerad and Sgt. Major Hrakk looked over the assembled group of Allanean officers as they deactivated their translating symbiotes. Between these two groups were 18 Sakkran military personnel; 6 in front of each officer. Lt. Sseerad chuffed as he looked over the assembled group. "So this is what we're supposed to 'guide' into becoming serviceable officers?"

Capt. Bezzt patted him on his shoulder. "I know, I know. They don't look like they've even had a stiff drink yet." Hrakk grumbled as his mouth-plates gnashed. "Supposed to command others to die when they have not really lived themselves. Bad to force young minds to endure war."

Bezzt patted both officers on their backs. "That's what we're here for, right? To teach them how to fight and live as swiftly and quietly as possible? Minimize and win? let's get rolling on this. Hrakk, would you make the opening statement?"

Hrakk grumbled and nodded assent as he patted his neck, reactivating the translator. The other two did the same. The Sergeant Major puffed out his nearly 10' spike-covered frame and started.

"Attention. You are here by order of your President to become an efficient command staff. In view of recent activity of the previous command staff, it had been decided new direction was needed. We are called on to turn you into this. You will be stripped of what you knew, and replaced with what will work. Captain Bezzt of the H.I.S.N. is TOP of this endeavor."

A lobster-like claw gestures at the Capt. standing at parade rest. "That means you listen to his orders over all others. He has 112 human years of active status and experience. Lt. Sseerad and myself will be overseers of your Sergeants." The 18 petty officers before the Capt. and Lt. saluted, left hand splayed over their chests. "As of your acceptance, you are no longer Allanean Officers, but ditchdiggers if that is what it takes. Any who do not like this, can leave. But your careers in the military will be finished. Understood? Inspections and question/answer time will be in one hour. Be prompt."

For many Allaneans, the Sakkrans were very intimidating – not because they were reptilian of course. As they inspected the rows of young Allaneans, they would find quite a few that were not human – elves, orcs, Tidanian avians, Valaquine, penguinoid Dohwar, and the avatars of several artificial intelligences. But still, the Sakkrans were seen by many as rather… scary. Not because they were even Sakkran – but because Sakkra was associated with the Triumvirate of Yut.

While the official policy of Allanea was neutral and even friendly towards many Triumvirate nations, Allanea’s government had no propaganda arm of it’s own – and in an atmosphere of absolute freedom of speech, a naturally-paranoid population begins to spread strange rumors – rumors about global conspiracies, about secret assassinations and horrible crimes. Of course most population doesn’t believe it – but of course they don’t. But the overall reputation of Triumvirate being composed of lean, mean, completely ruthless bastards that mean business remains.

As such, discipline remained airtight –better in fact then inside the schools the cadets came from. And as for the questions… well, Kazansky had ordered platoons of Boy Scout cadets to their literal death before, and they went singing. This time, it was much less dangerous.

There were no refusals.

Seeing none of the recruits deciding to leave left a good impression on the trio. Military discipline had obviously been drilled into their still-forming brains as everyone stood in line for their inspections. Sergeant Major Hrakk and Lt. Sseerad stood back at parade rest while Capt. Bezzt walked the line. The time was 0645 military standard.

"Running through the normal schedule, you'll awake at 0500 and clean your barracks. You'll be solely responsible for the condition of the barracks, your uniform and equipment. At 0600 is First Chow. 0645 is Inspection followed by 2 hours of PT. Ater that you will be broken up into three large groups, where your Sergeants will commandeer your day. There will be class instruction, advanced military courses and SIM training throughout this time. These will rotate throughout the day so everyone receives the same materials of instruction as everyone else. Lunch at 1200, followed by a rest period. At 1330 will be a period of grounds maintanence which lasts for three hours; check the assignment roster on the display in front of your barracks for your duty assignments. A 1 hour period of PT at 1630 will follow, and then dinner. From there your time will be yours to do as you see fit provided you all remain on the grounds. It is our HOPE that you would use this time wisely and to the best, most efficient means."

Bezzt had reached the end of the line at this point; toe-spun on one foot and walked back along the line, eyeballing each recruit in passing. "This may seem standard procedure to you, or maybe even less. Don't be fooled into complacency. All this will be going on under Herpetological Military Standards, which means you'll be operating under the criteria the Sergeant Major, Lieutenant and myself went under. We can run at 30 mph, sprinting at 45 mph for an average soldier. Lifting ability is on average 450 lbs. We can run faster for longer and lift more than most unaltered humans, and even some modified humans. This is without MilGrade symbiotes. You will all be expected to keep pace. At the end of this, every being here will be graded on academic prowess, physical ability and mental fortitude. Be armed for success so that the possibility of failure does not exist. Time for PT. Join with your assigned sergeants and go."

Some of the beings that were listening shuddered – the penguinoid Dohwar, for example, did not have legs long enough to accommodate the running speed. But even more anxious, for some reason, looked the small group of cadets that had already undergone modification to become future Porcupine Pilots.

These were an elite group – none more then four hundred of them served at any time, and each of them controlled an entire vessel with his mind. Even at age sixteen, the cadets' bodies were already modified with arcane plugs, advanced biocomputers, and other things needed to control the hundreds of devices aboard a Porcupine without moving.

The craft were so cramped – their entire immense hull filled with engines, ammunition, and power generators for the immense weapons – that despite their 750-meter length, the only way the Pilot could fit in would be by lying down inside the vessel. Thin, frail, light humanoids were thought the best for the job, though a Dohwar or two could be seen as well.

Months of training by lying on one's back in a starship simulator, and not being allowed to move even had one wanted to did not make the cadets heavier – or stronger.

In the on-site M.C.U. pod, the three heads gathered around a battery of display terminals. Lt. Sseerad continuously cycled through the data on the recruits left in their charge. "These beings would not make the criteria normally. Specialized enhancements not fit for physical strain. Even if the Emperor gave the go-ahead for enhancing symbiotes on them, it wouldn't be enough."

Capt. Bezzt sipped gingerly at a cup of tea with his eyelids closed in thought. "I never expected them to do so, anyways. It's just a target for them to hit. I know human limitations. It'd take invasive cybernetics or a full symbiote conversion to get them up to snuff. But if they don't have the will to at least aim for the target, they really aren't cut out for what we're planning. Remember, we're not dismissing anyone; we're letting these recruits weed out the weak ones on their own."

Sergeant Major Hrakk clacked his claws while he spoke, gesticulating for emphasis. "What planning? Recruits would not make criteria if they had 10 lives to do it. They will fall face-down in dirt."

Bezzt stopped sipping his tea, stood and walked over to the terminak Hrakk was eyeballing. "That doesn't really matter, does it? In all the data we've collected on the New Wuhan 'incident', one glaring thing has been prodding my eyes. The lack of willpower from the officers. Following orders without question, regardless of those orders, is easy to do. I'm aiming to make a smarter officer here. One that doesn't go blindly into the meat-grinder."

Sseerad chuffed at that. "Hrar! That's your game! If they give up without even trying, they really aren't cut out for the job."

Some time later

People failed and were weeded out – many failed, in fact. Such is the nature of people and what they do – whether humans or not. Under pressure, some crack. Some are just not good enough for it. Such is life.

There are people who, despite evidence to the contrary, do not.

Porcupine Cadet Abdallah Norton-Singh's condition does not enable him to run well. He tries, anyway. He runs on, slowly – technically, a non-tired person can walk faster then a tired Abdallah – panting heavily. Eventually, something goes wrong and he simply collapses, coughing furiously.

Nienna Thames pulls on, too, even though her slender frame has never been built for this – a former attendant of the Engineering Academy course, she was trained be a future Engineering Officer of a battleship, crawling through narrow maintenance passages through the hulls of Management Buyout monster battleships – size is not a premium in joining these courses. Rather, the reverse is true.

And there are many like these.

"So give me the numbers." Captain Bezzt hoisted up the Chunk Projector MKIII, fresh from the Hreer Weapon Works lines. Before him, at about 2000 feet were several junked vehicles on a firing range. Several drum clips lay at his feet with a variety of markings on them. Gelig rounds, Spore rounds, AP rounds and Anti-Personnel rounds to be short as well as a surplus of standard rounds. It looked far sleeker than the Mark II, and felt considerably lighter.

Lt. Sseerad also hoisted one up, and made a sound of pleasure. He holds it by its stock grip and gives it a hip-shot from a Gelig round. The round doesn't quite hit the target dead on, but the 100 foot blast radius full of chemical fire means that it doesn't really matter.

Watching the junked cars in the blast radius melt down into heaps of mush, Sseerad sighs a long, satisfying sigh. The fire finally extinguishes itself after 10 minutes, leaving nothing but a very burnt patch of ground. "Haaaaaahhhh.....of the 400+ beings that were here at start-up, 135 remain."

"Hrrmmm....would hate to see the ones gone become commanders. That would make for big messes." Hrakk looks at the weapons the other two are using, and looks at his own massive claws. "Wish R&D would finish their cannons meant for my people."

"Alright. Sounds like we got the results expected. So now we get to make nice. Call a general assembly in one hour. If they have to be wheeled in with an iron lung, then so be it. But everyone here shows up, no exceptions. Not even death is a good enough excuse."
**********************************************************

At the general assembly, Sseerad and Hrakk stood at parade rest while Bezzt stood at the podium awaiting silence. When they got it, the Captain began speaking.

"Let's start. First of all, congratulations on making it this far. Now the real training begins. We had to weed out those that wouldn't make the cut, much like is done in the H.I.S.N. Not because of physical limits or lack of training, no. This was a test of fighting spirit."

"None of you were really expected to complete with the physical stresses we are capable of. But refusing to quit as long as you can go on is a big part of being able to command. To endure what the people who will be counting on you to keep them alive endure all the time will put things in perspective. Perspective you'll need to bring pride to your country and to be an effective commander."

"So now the physical training and such are done with, for the most part. You still need to maintain yourselves to keep a sharp mental edge, but it'll be scaled down to something far more manageable for you. But the training we have in store may tap your mental faculties just as badly as the PT before tapped your physical limits. But for now, you'll all be granted three days leave to rest and recuperate. Use it well. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them."

Strangely, there are no questions. After all, isn’t it a rule of all Basic Training? “Never ask the Sergeant if you’re running with a backpack. He’ll tell you to strap it on, regardless.”

There is only silence – disciplined silence, but probably, disappointing silence nevertheless. The troops remain at attention, waiting if Captain Bezzt wants to provide anything more. Otherwise, no questions are asked – what-so-ever.

In the meanwhile, in Allanea, the Navy was put on the minimal Deployment Alert possible. Two fleets were scrapped together from ships from different units, and sent to fight the ESUS-GFFA war under the command of the Facehuggerian Admiral Tanthius. Given that thte four surviving Grand Admiral have been executed for war crimes and high treason, it remained unlikely the fleets would have much of a success, but that was the only thing Allaneans could do right now.

The rest of the navy lay at anchor over Earth. Some of the ships were being repaired, some replaced, and one even modernized, but the navy was not really a combat-worthy unit as a whole. It would be a long, long time before Allanea's navy would be restored to it's full capacity again – though moves were already made to that direction.

The Kazansky Amendment had no serious opposition after the failure of the coup – the Congressionals had made fools of themselves on a grand scale like never before, and that was precisely how Kazansky liked it.

And so, solid-state computers were made, and installed in different places around Allanea. The system was incredibly decentralized – initially, seven hundred several locations would be necessary, and their number would grow still as the years went by.

The building of Congress would of course have to be replaced, to account for a new, oversized amount of delegates – but they would worry about that later.

While the last pre-Amendment Congress was living out its final days, a single document with an interesting title had been passed there. It was the Sakkran Appreciation Act. It allowed for a small (and mostly symbolic) one-time monetary renumeration to be made to those who aided in the retraining of the Allanean military, and further issue them with a one-time Sakkran-Allanean Friendship Medal 'as a gesture of gratitude from the Allanean people'.

What that meant apart from it's overt content – and why the Administration pushed the bill – was anybody's guess.

Months and months of training had passed. What it amounted to was a centralized core of officers that hopefully, had a renewed sense of personal pride. This would spread through the ranks of their subordinates as these retrained officers would possess an aura of leadership. Subordinates would follow their orders not only because it's what's expected of them, but because it would give them a sense of pride as well to serve under those that had an air about them of awe. The officers themselves could now be as deadly to face either in one of the Porcupine crafts or outside of it. Dramatic changes in their physicality would not be noticeable, but even their bodies were more efficient. Atrophied muscle and an abundance of fatty tissues were replaced with lean, yet tough muscle fibers resulting in whip-cord like bodies that reacted to situations at a rate of 2.35 increase.

Skills and tactics meant to streamline operation effectiveness were taught, tested and taught again until seamless efficiency resulted. What once would take several warfleets to accomplish could now be done with 1/4 of the forces in half the time. The gravity of battle-field decisions were instilled in each one, so that hasty and ill-planned actions would no longer be the norm. What this resulted in was creating a sense of empathy with the enemy, so that public opinion of opposing civilians would be a bit more favorable; a psychological technique for certain.

The Allanean Stellar Navy, in the meanwhile, was in terrible shape. Sure, losses have been replaced, and ships upgraded. But while it's numbers were the same, the command was diluted, and many ships deteriorated through lack of service and maintenance. The Security-series mechanoids have been retired entirely from service, and not completely replaced by AAC drones yet. In general, the situation in the navy was a complete clusterfuck.

As such, the Allaneans fell back from their force-projection positions, and just waited, staying polite to everybody in Sol as much as they could. The day to flex muscles did not yet come. Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't.

* * *
Nienna Thames' diary

Dear diary.

I think I'm beginning to get the hang of the studies. They are very hard, of course – these lizardmen are driving us like slaves with the courses and exercises – but I think I can handle it. They've also operated on me – I'm much stronger now, but I still weigh the same fifty-five kilos, thank goodness.

Abdallah has really changed since we've enrolled. I don't mean just physically. I mean he's become a better person, somehow. He's much more polite then he was before – then again, we all are. In Allanea, people are not generally very polite... hey, I even talk 'cleaner' English now. I don't swear much, though I used to. I think there are many swear words at the beginning of this diary. At any rate, Abdallah is much nicer now... I wonder if I should ask him out.

Oh no, no, I am not in love with him! Preposterous! I just want to have coffee...

* * *

Abdallah Smith's diary

Dear diary!

I wonder how I didn't notice it before? Cadet-Officer Thames is actually hot. Maybe it's those new glasses her folks have shipped to her...

I'm acting like a first-year cadet. I better speak of something else. Yesterday, we trained in using ERASER rifles...

It's strange. Before I enrolled, I used to really hate Yutties. Especially because of what they did to my ancestors. These ones are pretty nice, though – and, to my knowledge, Sakkra was not involved in any way in the horrific acts that caused my grandfather to die – not that this matters. The actual sapients teaching us are rather nice people, and they certainly had nothing to do with it.

Or is it that I'm becoming what they call an 'adult'?

Bezzt and Sseerad looked over their reports concerning the trainees. For the most part the ones that stayed made the cut, although there were a few incidents of nervous breakdowns occuring. The meditation exercises that Grakk was in charge of were intended to promote focus and ease stress that the military career naturally is burdened with, but for some it was a bit much, one would suppose.

"Alright, let's change gears again. Helps get the trainees used to what they might see in the field. Command changes its mind all the time at the drop of a hat, so why not get them prepped for that." Bezzt looked up from his terminal, shifting his hind-section on the slate slab he was resting on. "That's not going to help the stress levels any. You got a plan?"

"Shunting my plan to your terminal now. Basically the trainees will have rotational academic/VR/PT time. With less than ten trainees to one overseer, we can make for more quality small-scale instruction. On times the trainees are not with the instructor, they will be expected to be self-motivated to undertake training on their own."

Bezzt 'hrrrm'ed a bit as he looked over the detailed plan. "Sounds interesting. Not much different than the officer training in Titan Orbit. You plan on going with Admiral Shaar's itinerary?" Sseerad gestured to the affirmative, and swiped his tail at some unseen object on his left. "I'm making up the groupings now.......after this, wanna go to Qwezz's track for some light workout?" Bezzt gave a mock salute at this, eliciting a small chuckle.

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

Staff Sergeant Qwezz was already at the afore-mentioned track. It was a 3k deal, featuring several different obstacle types such as a water-trap, hurdling posts, pylons to maneuver through and swinging obstacles designed to strike the head of a normal-sized human, which would more likely batter his rib-section. He designed this track as a high-speed course where trainees would race at their best cross-country speed while avoiding and maneuvering through them. The goal being to grasp the ball at the end of the track and have their time recorded, as well as heart-rate, blood pressure and the like. For his own personal ends, it's like relaxation for him.

With his sprinting speed at 48.2kph and a cross-country speed of 35.3 kph, Qwezz usually gets through it quite quickly. And he does so this time as well, bobbing, weaving, leaping and slaloming through the whole thing to meet Bezzt and Sseerad at the finish point. He snaps a quick salute as he does his cooling-down exercises. "Staff Sergeant Qwezz at your disposal, sirs."

"At ease, Sergeant Qwezz. The Lieutenant and myself would like to make use of your track for PT exercises."

"Yes sir. Feel free to use the track as you like."

"Thank you, Segreant. We're also here to apprise you of a slight shift in the itinerary." Qwezz looked at them ascance, hoping for further info. "We've drawn up a roster for more personalized training, as well as promoting initiative and judgement of time-management."

A datapad was thrust to Qwezz, who took it and looked through the report. What detailed was trainee profiles (8 total, including Thames' and Smith's) and recommended training tactics. It would go on a three/two alternating schedule with a weeks-end review and general camp maintenance. This meant Qwezz would spend day 1 with three trainees, day 2 with two and so on until day seven, where everyone under his watch would meet and receive a report on their progress through the week, then dismissal for R&R, cleanup duties and so on.

Qwezz looked at the two COs before him. "Pending approval, each trainee gets a report on this, yes?" The pair nodded assent. The Sergeant handed the datapad back to Bezzt. "I foresee no problems with this, sirs. It could improve their training significantly and relieve stress some. I would be glad to undertake this method until such time as command decides otherwise."

Sseerad nodded as well as Bezzt. "Good, good. Now what changes have you made to your track here? I see it's got more automated features than before....."

The education of the Allanean officer class proceeded as it was scheduled – but perhaps this is not the story. If you are good at teaching people, then the people will learn – there's little to tell about such a thing. And yet, some interesting stuff did take place.

Dear diary...

I don't know how to explain this, but Abdullah Smith is truly amazing. Today we've had a training session with simulators, an he can do really cool stuff with the Porcupine, like all sorts of weird tight-turn manoevers – but that's not the amazing part. The amazing part is that, when I asked him how to do this after the session, he actually wasn't an arrogant prick, but actually explained everything to me and all. He was so horribly polite – does he fancy me or am I being silly?

She stopped typing for a second, minimized the OpenOffice window, and looked out of the window. Outside, the sun was just beginning to set, repainting the sky in strange shades of pink, red, and grey where it was blue only half an hour ago. Should I commit more details to the datadrive? After all, these lizards are after all Yut Personnel... who knows what they get up to? If they're as intrusive as they're made out to be in the newspapers, they could in fact be hacking into these computers.... For some reason, she visualized the Sakkrans finding out about this diary and using it to taunt and mock her about her childish fantasies... Ugh. So far, though, they haven't been that bad, though. At any rate, it's been a generally good day. I have come to enjoy the PT sessions – can you imagine that?

Elsewhere

In orbit, the last naval ship exited dock. The Navy had repaired it's material losses – but as it lacked severely in trained officers, the value of the freshly repaired and repainted battleships would be much less then their proud prows and their vast weapons arrays would seem to suggest. Many people were concerned – rightfully – about this, and foremost of these concerned individuals was Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky himself.

As such, he had decided to make the nation safer by several means. First, the Allaneans imitated the technology of brain backups already known by their Mindsetti and Uploadee allies – for more and more people, the death of a single body would no longer mean total death. But such could only be a minority of the population so far – after all, the backup facilities cost money. One million – maybe two million – could be thus safeguarded. The entire population? Not a chance.

The second tool of survival was a tried and sure one – look and find more friends and reconcile enemies. This would secure Allanea better then any amount of ultrasuperduperdreadnaughts the Navy could finance. And the first nation with which friendly relations needed to be reinforced would be Sakkra. The training of the Allanean cadets would be an opportunity.

Kazansky's message to the Sakkrans would be polite and succint.

Dear Sir!

As you know, our military remains in dire straits due to the problems caused by the recent coup – in particular, while we have managed to recoup the losses in the ESUS-GFFA conflict, our officer cadres remain unready. Would it be a great burden for you to provide a corps of advisors that would provide an organizing backbone for the Navy until such a time that the training of the cadre is complete?

Per auctoritate rei publicae allaneanae,
Alexander Kirillovich Kazansky.