NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: its been a while since we've RP'ed I know so now im starting a thread, lets get the ball rolling again. I do not want to be the only one posting here, for a start date i figure a year plus since the end of the war?

IC:

A time when one hears talk on all sides of a crisis- and sometimes even a catastrophe - of democracy…Rule by the masses, the laborers and un educated is a mistake beyond compare.”

Congressmen Ingo Vogel, Guild Bloc

Side Forty Four
Ticonderoga System
Capital of the Wickian Concordat


On the 2-d flat panel monitor a local news reporters face filled the screen as he spoke in low deep and even tones,

“Yesterday at 1855 a demonstration of the Miner’s Union local 2245 was broken up by force resulting in the death of six and the arrest of thirty of the striking miners. Franklin Mining Inc. stated publicly that the strikers turned violent and began to damage company property resulting in their use of Company Security Forces. However, our reporter Elizabeth Young was on the scene and her camera captured the events which unfolded.” The screen cut to what was a loud but non-violent demonstration. A tall, slender man stood on a stage with a microphone in hand, his hands bore the calluses of a miner and his form was thick with the muscles required of the demanding job.

“My Friends when you elected me President of the Union I promised you all work, and we have received plenty of that! But I also promised decent pay and benefits, I promised basic food rations and medicine, and I stand by that promise even if the management has forgotten. Even if the big wigs say unequivocally that they can not afford to provide us with such services. The entire Concordat is dependent upon the materials provided by the sweat of our labor, and yet we suffer under the yoke of abject serfdom.” A chorus of cheers and curses of agreement overwhelm his voice for a minute before he was able to again speak above it. “There comes a time when you realize that the engine you’ve built with your blood and sweat and your tears, is being used for something so foul, something so perverted, that it makes you sick in your heart. And its then that you that you must throw your body on the gears and on the levers and on the machine itself and make it stop! You have to show the people who run it, the people who control it, that unless we are free that that machine will be prevented from working at all.” The calls for strike now thundered throughout the hall, when suddenly a grey cloud exploded in the center of the crowd, the surprised workers looked about for the threat, as more gas canisters released their noxious fumes, a cryptic voice was heard calling for dispersal barely audible over the screams and coughs, that was when the first pulsar retort sounded, and another, and another before the cameras views fizzled out into a snowy screen….with a click the 2-d display was turned off by the man watching it.

David Lloyd Ginske reclined in the large comfortable leather chair behind his oak desk, he ran his hands over the stained wooden surface it was a rare luxury to have an actual wooden desk in the Concordat. Such wood had to be imported from a foreign nation most likely the Imperium and such luxury goods would have brought a price tag one would shudder to consider. He inherited it from his late father, the murdered President of the Concordat, fallen like so many others in the recent war. David had to shut his eyes for a moment as the pain of that conflict overtook him again, not just the pain of his father lost, but the stump that remained of his right arm quivered a moment as he remembered his shock as a splinter severed it from his body during the last moments of the Second Battle of Ticonderoga. He did not have the best relationship with his father and he swore never to become like him, a high ranking member of the Guild Bloc, concerned only with profit and greed. Many thought David joined the Navy just to spite his father, few knew the truth, that he had joined to spite his father for cheating on his wife, David’s mother. His father feared that David would be killed and thus he would have no heir, in that event all of the Ginske estate would be reclaimed by the State. Yet, it was his father who died, and now David inherited his title due to the hereditary clause of succession in the Concordat. He was the son of one of the most powerful members of the Guild Bloc, for over a generation the Guild had held the office of President and every six years an election would secure the next term for another guildsman. In those few instances where a President would pass a way the title would go his heir securing the Guilds control of the Presidency further still. Only in this case the best laid of plans backfired for David Lloyd Ginske, formally Lt. Commander Ginske of the now shattered CSN LAC wing was no friend of the Guilds, nor their “Concordat”.

His eyes went down to consider the passage of a hard covered book he had been reading, the words were radical considering they were Wickian and they went in complete opposition to Guild policy, they were the words that would bring the baton of a Guild security officer down upon the Civilian who spoke them in public. A wicked and sardonic smile appeared on his face as he considered what would happen to the guard that tried to do that to him, he stood and left the room he had a meeting to keep with Congress, the book remained opened,

The wholly unseen collapse of the great absolute Hegemony of Channing Ansel, we Wickians live for the first time in over a century content protected by a degree national security that has not been enjoyed in over a century. Following the Proxima Accords a call for the establishment of a Republican Democracy has enthroned the Concordat, within our reach is a democracy that would be equipped with a constitution drawn up with the most up to date liberal principles….The power lies with the people, whose voice should rise and demand of congress the universal acceptance of democracy as the normal form of government.

The Former Imperial Palace in New Babylon, New Hope

“You’ve heard the news coming out of Ticonderoga, haven’t you dear?” rang Talia’s light, airy voice across the marble bath.

Darius sat soaking in the spring water in the next room of the elaborate spa, the steam rising around him. “The CO boys have been keeping an eye on it for me. Why, have you heard anything?”

Talia leaned around the corner, peaking into Darius’ muggy space. “Oh, just that the strike’s gotten worse. Six people were killed at some demonstration today.” Darius furrowed his brow, lifting his head from the headrest to eye his wife suspiciously. She saw the look fled back around the corner to wash her face. “Sorry, I mean six Wickians, not people.”

Darius leaned back and relaxed. “It really is awful,” he declared, becoming suddenly sympathetic. “Those guilds are almost as bad as the Council of Trusts.”

“Well, Dar… I suppose you could help them out.”

“The Wickians?” Darius asked incredulously.

Talia peaked back around the corner, now brushing her teeth. The words come out distorted, but still audible. “Sure. That fancy Charter of yours talks a lot about helping beings ‘in their fight for freedom’ and so on. You could give that President Ginkse a call. You know you can do that. You are the leader of the Liberated worlds.”

“Call Ginske? It might be worth leaving them oppressed,” Darius admitted with a grimace. “You remember him, from one of the Victory Balls? Always standing in the corner, looking so oppressed!”

“Oh, how could I forget? He’s the tallest wet blanket I’ve ever met! I swear, I didn’t know a man could drink that much and never have an ounce of fun!” There was a dead beat in the conversation, only Talia’s toothbrush could be heard amongst the steam and marble. “So?”

Darius sat for a moment as his wife stared, brushing. “Alright, then. I’ll do it.” He raised his chin, sarcastically triumphant. Talia smiled, and then disappeared around the corner once more to spit. Darius leaned back comfortably, closing his eyes, saying to himself: “I’ll do it as soon as I’m done with my bath.”

“Strikes not only halt production at our foundries and other industries factories but they are also a threat to the national security of the Concordat. The critical nature of our military at this moment is well known to the entire Raumreich knows that our Navy is almost entirely deployed and what forces remain here in Ticonderoga are those that were too damage to survive the deployment jumps. Without our workers mining and laboring all repairs and reconstruction efforts cease, that is not tolerable!” Ingo Vogel stated, the other members of the Guild Bloc and a surprising number of the Navy representatives voiced there support of his position. Ginske looked to their faced and recognized only a couple of the Naval Officers who voiced their support, they were “new” Navy political appointments whose loyalties were with the Guilds, or otherwise mediocre officers whose only home for promotion was by choosing their patrons in the Guilds. He shook his head in disgust they would obtain another plurality, nothing could change that, their motions to crack down on the strikers and civilians in general would pass no mater what he or his political allies tried to do to oppose it.

His father was a reformer of sorts he realized only now, he pushed through numerous resolutions that favored the guilds in the short term but the people in the long. He could do that because he controlled nearly 11% of the Guild Bloc alone, and his retainers and friends even more then that. Now after his death David saw all his fathers old allies abandon him, 11% of 100% was near enough to nothing when one stood along against the mass.

Today the Concordat would pass legislation that would condone murder, and his administration would place its stamp of approval on it, and be forced by law to enforce it. David shook his head in disgust. He felt as if the world was slowly closing in on him, binding him into inaction and acceptance of doing things he hated, committing sins that would condone his soul to hellfire, and he deserved it all. But there was no choice, none at all. Ginske when he served in the Navy was the protégée of Admiral Peregrine, he said there was always a choice, a good commander never ran out of options if he was willing to pay the price. Could he pay the price for change? If it was just his life he could, but if he resistance many more lives would be lost and could the nation survive that? He doubted it.

His hand pulled a flask out of his pants pockets quickly unscrewing the cap he drained it of most its liquid, as it burned its way to his gut he felt good for an all too short and fleeting moment.

“Fucking-A…..Empty.” He thought he was pretty annoyed, and that was when his n-plant light up with an incoming communication Priority Alpha-Green-004 which was the designation of the leader of the Liberation, and what the fuck did that needledick playboy want? He retreated into his mind, his N-Plant allowed real time conversation with anyone similarly equipped where there was an ansible in range, and concurrently would record and store any of the session of Congress he missed….Thank the Valinor for making his life even more of a pain in the ass…fucking ghosts.

“Yes, what do you want? O’Great Darius of the Setting Sun” he asked grumpily standing in a bright white empty room awaiting the others avatar to appear.

Darius emerged into the white room (which was noticeably lacking black curtains, and was no-where near a station: Cream reference) with a smile. At home he lay in the gardens of the interim Guardian’s Palace gardens, soaking up the sun, but in the virtual meeting room he wore the latest fashion from New Babylon. He always felt like putting the Homeland’s best foot forward, and never considered that the style of the Morning Star might not agree with those of others. That being said, he wore a light pink blazer, with the sleeves rolled up, of course, over a simple yellow shirt. His shoes were too ungodly expensive to be described.

“Hello, Mr. President!” he greeted graciously, extending one hand to shake. “It’s been so long since we last spoke, but I didn’t expect your lovely secretary to put me straight through. It’s a pleasant surprise. How have you been?”

Nu-Space was a funny place, had he chosen to David could have shook Darius extended hand with this right arm, much as he would have in years past. But he was if anything a realist and he would not permit the environment to alter what really was. Here in this environment he had no right arm just as he lacked it in the real world. He merely looked at Darius extended hand for a moment, his right hand. He couldn’t shake even if he desired to with his left hand which merely curled into a finest at his hip.

“I am surviving which is enough.” He considered his counterpart from another stellar nation for a moment, and merely managed to hold the rising bile in his throat down. His own garb was as simple and practical as the LNH’ers was elaborate “Speaking of my secretary you and she must have similar tastes I could swear she wore that same jacket just the other day…” fag or so Ginske thought or perhaps his people and their cultural was becoming even more alien. First it was the Valinor and their ridiculous hats, not this feminist garb being worn by men, leaders of a nation no less! At least the Vernii maintained a professional decorum.

Darius was somewhat sobered by Ginske’s demeanor, behavior, end remarks, but took them with a breath and casually placed his hand in his pants pocket. “Haha… yes, well. I see the styles of yesteryear have persevered in the Concordat. Now, David, if I may call you David; we’re all Reich leaders here, I’ve come to talk about these strikes. There’s this conflict rising between the labor and the management… the Guilds, yes? I’ve just been hearing all this terrible news and as leader of one of the only other democratic states in the Reich I felt obligated to extend a hand, see if there’s anything I could do to help.”

Clothing was the last thing on a Wickians mind beyond that it was functional and kept the person who wore it warm, unless that person was one of the small percentage of Wickians even in the Guild Bloc who had the luxury to worry about the latest trends in consumer goods. At first he wanted to dismiss his fellow’s offer out of hand but he could not.

“What is social upheaval in the Concordat to you? No one else much carried about our situation here ever before, not the Valinor nor the Vernii. And what pray-tell do you propose to do about the situation?” He asked Darius.

“I’m not from Valinon, nor Vernii. As for propositions, I don’t have any with me right at this moment. I’ve just come to talk. To be frank, David, I just want to see your view on this whole problem, then I could go from there.”

"Ha" a short bitter laugh is all that marks the Presidents contempt, as for what he wanted to do was to strangle ever last member of the guild and throw them out the nearest airlock. That though would prove hard to do without sparking a Civil War, and that would not be smart considering the Navy and a large portion of the Marine Corps was deployed in the Great March and the Former Hegemony, and the large amount of Guild Police Protection Forces and their allied Mercenary Commands which remained in Ticonderoga.

"I stand with the People of the Concordat, just as I did as an officer in the Navy I am responsible to that same oath I swore then only more so now. I also stand with my government duly elected to its authority; I must enforce its will as well."

He was getting tired

“Damn it,” he declared quietly to himself, biting his lower lip. “I’m not here as a diplomat. I’m not a lawyer, I’m not the media. You’re not being recorded, so don’t feed me that b-- … I want to know where you stand. Are you with the Guilds? Then fine. I’ll leave right now and let you and the Guilds run the country. You’re right, it’s none of my business so long as I keep getting my shipments.” He looked off to the side, calming himself. “I knew your father. Sure, we only met a few times; but I studied him. It was my job. I studied every Ma’am or Sir in the Reich and I know he was a man of the people. Oh, sure: he helped the Guilds, but any idiot could see every law he wrote was meant for the people.”

“So,” he continued, lowering his tone and staring Ginske right in the face, “I just wanna know. Who are you with? Then I can be on my way.”

Sure his father was a man of the people, that was true after a fashion. His father also reveled in the popularity his office brought and the wealth enjoyed by someone of his station, not to mention the social companions someone of his celebrity could find easily around every corridor. Who the fuck was this alter boy to speak of his father like he knew him, hell old man Ginske probably would pork Darius’ old lady given half a chance, and from intelligence told him of her she did like a party, girls like that, well…

How funny it was that this fellow could rile him up so easily, David supposed it was a combination of things, the least of which was the questioning of his integrity. Although his lines of rhetoric early may have sounded like bullshit they were not, his was an absolute ethic of conviction breed into the very marrow of a many who stared death in the eyes and laughed, all for a sense of duty to protect what was left of the Wickian race. LNHers, Vernians, even the Valinor had no concept of that sort of persecution none what so ever. Facing genocide for over a century could do that to a person.

“No, Darius you are a politician, something I can not be.” Ginske reflected his voice displaying no emotion. “This is a game to you with piecing moving on the board, shipments, profits, balance of power is your concern, no? I am and always will be a soldier. I think in the long term, because I can. What are six dead strikers to me? I’ve seen millions killed in ten minutes, six strangers, workers, nothing. I no longer have any friends or loved ones, they have all been killed.” Darius was looking into his eyes, good. Ginske hoped he looked deep into his own and then the Alter Boy would see what David knew he would see, nothing, only icy cold emptiness. “I am now and have been only one thing in my life since my father disowned me, a Soldier, when ever I hear the Great War mentioned, I can tear of my sleeve and show the scars that remain still on this stump, which I earned on my St. Crispin’s Day, can you do the same, can you say the same, and you question where my loyalty lies….

"If you have to ask which ideology I identify with, then you are even more daft than Valinor dossiers make you out to be. If that is the case you do not deserve your position in government nor my answer and parley is over." The President's voice did not raise at all in tone or volume he simply stood rigidly his face wooden.

Darius shook his head in disgust. "This is useless. The stubborn old self-rightious WIckians: too proud to accept the help of a 'politician.' I don't have time for this. When you're serious about the proliferation of democracy in the Reich, then we'll talk. Otherwise, you work with the guilds and you get my titanium or you don't get a single dime out of me, and if I play my cards right, the Verniians either. Mr. Ginske, you just pissed off a politician. Goodbye."

Darius cut the feed and continued his sunbath.

It probably would have seemed like something out of a nightmare for Darius that when he looked over to his right he saw not an empty lawn chair but rather one occupied by a quite pasty white Wickian, who had a rather liberal amount of sunscreen on his nose and large ray ban sunglasses.

“Surprised eh? Well you do recall that we important leaders have little over ride we can active to appear instantly in another so called leaders mind’s eye whenever we think it necessary.”

“Ah yes this is the life, I wonder if id enjoy sunbathing, never really had the chance to try it before you know. Alas that’s just my typical Wickian guilt trip response, no?” David laughed heartedly

“So Mr. Prime Guardian of the Collective Protectorates of the Homeland, a politician’s title if I ever heard one, you still have not answered my original question, if you can remember it through that barrier you racial hatred and annoyance at my people you cling so desperately.” He did not wait even a moment before continuing

“You see I’m not blind mon ami, though I cant exactly even tie my own fucking shoe nowadays. I know my race was not the only ones to suffer in the War, I know even politicians such as yourself have lost many people, I suppose it just that I do not Care.”

“What I said before is true, there isn’t anyone in the Raumreich left to me, so know I do not do this now out of a desire of some friendship with you. Nor do I give two shits about what you tell the Vernii, when was the last time they lifted a finger to help my nation, they have left it to burn three times now. You at least have tried to extend an olive branch, though you’ve failed my first test, although you probably do not Care about that much do you…Well”

“Answer my first question Alter Boy. What do you propose to do about this situation?”

Darius raised one eyebrow. "... you activated the Emergency Feed?" He was so taken aback by the WIckians lack of regard for protocol he didn't have time to notice the term Alter Boy. "I'm... glad? Um..." Darius panically looked around, seeing his wife approach, headed straight for the minds-eye WIckian's chair. He needed to distract her: not even she was meant to know about the Emergency Feed, an executive agreement amongst the leaders of the allied worlds.

"Honey!" he cried out as she approached. "Um... I'm afraid I forgot my latest issue of Trinidan Today on the patio table, could you get it for me? She let out a flustered sigh and turned around to get the magazine.

"Alright, Ginske, it appears you'd like to play ball then we'll play ball. We'll meet on a regular channel in an hour, I'll put make a few calls, put together a proposition, and meet you there alone, agreed? Now, if you don't mind I'm going to shut down the feed before I have to explain to my wife why I'm talking to an imaginary man in her lawnchair!"

Darius awaited his reply.

Ginske merely clicked his cheek at the LNHer and disappeared ...

Darius sighed in exasperation, letting his head fall back on the chair. Sudden impact: something flat smacked against his gut. He looked up at his wife who was taking her seat and asked, "What is this?"

"Its your magazine."

"What magaz--... oh... oh! Oh... thanks, honey." He let out another sigh. "Thanks."

Ten Minutes Later, 50 minutes to the meeting…

Darius sat in his bedroom, still only in his shorts, facing the telecomm. On the screen were a host of advisors, most economic, all tossing out ideas, numbers, and theories about Wickian economic and political conditions.

Darius raised a hand to quiet the screen. “Alright, alright, military action is out, covert force is out, Ginske’s legislation from within is out. The country is unstable, yes, but Dr. Tarakne: exactly how far could things go?”

A man in the far right corner split-screen informed Darius of exactly what he did not want to hear: “The Guilds are in complete control of the economy, and because Wickian forces are over-extended on peace-keeping missions, Ginske is subject to Guild security forces to perform any executive action. The moment the Guilds feel they’re losing power they’ll clamp down on him. If it’s not an all-out coup, it’ll be a civil war.”

“So we have to handle it with finesse,” spurts out another voice, a few screens below the other. “The Guilds have to be forced to the negotiating table. They’ll only do that when they have some real competition in the system: competition like Homelander and Verniian corporations.”

“They’ll never allow it,” another voice concluded on the spot. “Not the guilds, and not Ginske. He’d let the guilds march the labor straight into hell before he’d let foreign corporations employ Wickians, taking money out of the already currency poor country.”

“Wait,” requested yet another voice, coming from yet another face.

“Yes, Mr. Machnijad?” Darius gave him ‘the floor,’ as it were.

“If we can’t introduce outside corporations, can’t Ginske allow for the creation of internal ones?”

One of the former men retorts, “The Guilds will see it as a direct threat, who knows how they’ll react.”

The debate continues until Darius raises his hand once more. “Continue discussion, I have other matters to attend to. I’ll be back in 40 minutes. I want DCO's on my desk.”

Six Minutes Later, 44 Minutes to meeting…

“No, Congressman, this isn’t a matter of simple economics, there’s justice to be had! For your sake, I’m trying to expand the free worlds!” Darius slammed down the VoComm on his desk, looking up to the two men who had just entered his office. “The damned Millogs are getting antsy about the metals, gentlemen. Give me information I can use.”

“Our men in Ticon have been on the situation since last year,” the dark man in brown affirmed, handing Darius a dossier. “These are files on various key Guild officials, mostly in the mining sector, also information on the latest political placements in the navy. Ginske and his father let the whole system slip out of his fingers, sir.”

“You’ll remember, Agent Danaar” Darius informed the man in front of him, flipping through the files, “that our world was run by men like these only a few years ago. Not every man is as lucky as Hudan was in limiting corporate power.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does Kuma Adad have this information?”

“No, sir. Security checked out.”

“Good… How does any of this help me?”

The other man in lighter garb spoke up. “Sir, you’ll notice that the information on the officials listed is not all official. Each has his own… peculiarities. The OCO might be able to exploit some pieces of information to give you, Ginske, or anyone else more leverage.”

Darius smiled as he noticed drug addictions, allergies, and mistresses listed in every man’s file. “Good work. Go ahead and send everything that’s not too sensitive to OFI in Gregor… and send an emissary to deliver the package; I want full Verniian cooperation. Now, boys: you’re going to walk me through the men we really need and the men we can really get to…”

21 Minutes Later, 23 Minutes to meeting…

Just as the two OCO agents were stepping out, another three men, all dressed in the flamboyant colors of New Hope fashion, similar to Darius himself (in sharp contrast to the agents, dressed in simple beiges and browns) stepped in.

No greetings are exchanged, Darius starts immediately. “What have you found?”

“Using some information gathered by news sources inside Ticon, as well as intelligence from the OCO and Kuma Adad, a media war with the Guilds should be a cakewalk. They’ve handed us the stories… they’re just not on Nu-Space.”

A smile cracked across Darius’s face. “Bernard, you beautiful Jew, I knew you had more purpose beyond press conferences!” The beautiful Jew in question is Bernard Durkheim, Darius’s Director of Media Relations.

“It’s not quite that easy, Dar. We can’t break the story ourselves. Too suspicious, and… I’m sorry to say, but the Morning Star News isn’t really trusted in a lot of the Reich, not since the war.” The four men sat there somberly, looking down in controlled shame. “Our best chance is to get a Wickian, or at least one of your OCO or Kuma Adad men that look Wickian, to crack the story to Valinor or Verniian news sources as an anonymous source.”

Another man, to the right of the “beautiful Jew,” whipped out a disk purposefully. “On this disk we have enough footage to damn the whole mining Industry in Ticon, all the while never implicating Ginske as an accessory.”

Darius raised one eyebrow at the man. “Is any of it real?”

“That’s unverifiable, sir.” The four men all cracked a smile, then began to laugh hysterically.

Darius recovered, eyeing the man on the right. “Oh, how I do miss the old days. The two of you are dismissed,” he announced, indicating the two men that were decidedly not beautiful Jews, allowing Bernard to stay. The room now empty, Darius rounded his desk, fixing a drink and handing it to Bernard, taking the seat next to him. “How’s Emile?”

“She’s fine… taking the loss of Danny pretty badly, though.”

“How’d Danny die, again?”

Bernard looked Darius right in the eye. “It was an accident.”

Darius backed off. “Ok, ok… so, what kind of connections do we have in Ticon?”

“It’s nothing too solid, but we’ve got connections. The Goldstein family has managed to get in on a few jobs here and there, they know people.”

Darius took a sip of his scotch and leaned back in the chair. “What can we arrange?”

Bernard took a drink himself. “We can move goods in, move goods out.”

“Can you arrange a hit?”

Bernard took another, larger drink. “If you need one.”

12 Minutes Later, 11 Minutes to meeting…

Darius returned to his bedroom, now fully dressed from his various meetings. He turned on the TeleComm, the faces from before awaited his return. He looked down at his watch. “Well, you’ve had… 39 minutes. I’ve made arrangements with the other key players. What have you got?”

A slender man, holding his own square in the lower left corner began to speak for the whole of them. “Mr. Guardian we’ve just sent a text document of our DCO’s to your secretary.”

“Good, I’ll page through them, thank you for your time, gentlemen.” The screen flipped over to the face of a pretty young thing with an earpiece who’d apparently been typing. “Teresa?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Did I get anything in the mail?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Something from the IBA marked ‘urgent,’ and something from the CMS marked ‘urgent,’ and… well, sir, they’re all marked ‘urgent.’”

Darius was slightly annoyed, but maintained a smile. “Is there anything marked ‘Special Advisory Committee?’”

She scrolled down her screen for a moment before finally letting out a little yelp. “Oh! Here it is. Shall I send it to your handheld?”

“I’d appreciate it, Teresa.”

With the press of a button, the file was sent to Darius’s handheld TeleComm. “There you go, Mr. Guardian!”

“Thank you, have a nice…” Oh, damn, Darius thought to himself. I almost forgot. “Have a Happy Birthday, Teresa.”

Her eyes lit up and her hands went to her face. “Oh, my! You remembered!”

“Your gift is waiting for you at home.”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

“You’re welcome, Teresa. Goodbye.”

“Goodb—“ the screen flicked off.

I’ll have it sent in a bit, first things first.

9 Minutes Later, Time for the meeting…

Darius blipped into the white room, pages in hand, waiting for his Wickian counterpart.

Damn this room is drab. They could at least program some curtains…

[OOC: For all you who haven’t figured it out yet or just don’t know…
A.) The OCO (Office of Clandestine Operations) is one of two competing intelligence organizations in the Morning Star, the other being Kuma Adad, of which Darius has grown suspicious).
B.) Bernard Durkheim, the Director of Media Relations, has connections in the Jewish Mafia, the most well organized and widespread crime syndicate in the Collective Protectorates, and possibly the Inner Reich.
C.) Millogs are people from The Miligonian Compact.
D.) DCO = Decided Courses of Action.]

The President appeared a full ten minutes later not particularly concerned that he was "late".

"So, Mr. Guardian have you had enough time to think up an answer to my question?"

“Mr. President, I’ve worked with my advisors and administrators and have put together a number of ways that I could possibly assist your efforts toward freedom. I do not intend to resolve this conflict on my own, nor am I diluted enough to believe you would want me to try to resolve it on my own.”

Darius maintained steady eye contact and a welcome, but still serious demeanor. The Wickian could not be glad-handed and had no need to be impressed. He would try neither.

“For the time being, as you certainly know, secrecy is key. This being said, I have, through certain contacts, the ability to… funnel certain supplies into the general Ticonderoga population, even directly to Union operatives. Needed supplies, supplies that the Guilds will not supply themselves: anything to help the Unions and the people. All of this can be done quietly enough.

“Through similar connections, I may be able to authorize certain acts of mischief within the Guilds’ industrial complex. Stolen goods, delayed shipments, etc. I assume that you are above working with criminals, Mr. President. I have taken the liberty of working with them for you. Once again, this can be done quietly enough.

“Finally, the Liberation intelligence community is prepared to apply pressure to certain key Guild figures into… more favorable dispositions. This is a bit more extreme, though, and I have a feeling you may be a bit more effective in this. This concludes what I can do quietly.

“The next steps,” Darius began, “which we would not move toward until later, would not be so quiet. In cooperation with Calimar, Liberation forces will eventually be prepared to assist and relieve substantial portions of the Wickian fleet abroad, allowing them to return home, strengthening executive presence in the system.

“Aside from that, as you so eloquently put, Mr. President, that I am a politician. I don’t intend to deny this: I’ve been one my entire professional life. That being said, I know the value of the media. Using resources available to me, I can help bring the entire Reich’s attention to the Guild’s oppression. Valinon, Vernii, others: with enough media attention drawn to the Wickian’s strife, they will have no choice but to act.

“Finally, a market flood. With cooperation from Emperor Calimar, we can orchestrate a flood of cheap goods into the market that will specifically compete with crucial Guild products. I also recognize that this is dangerous, in that it directly damages the Wickian economy, but, as much as I don’t want to admit it, since the Guilds control the economy, any attack on them is an attack on the economy.

“Of course, I am more keen on getting your approval on the quiet parts of the plan, as they are the more immediate. The others are reserved for a later time and are most definitely more extreme. In any case, I hope I’ve proven to be just as slippery and lacking in dignity as you expected.”

”You have raised a good series of proposals, a few are even practical. Several however would be misguided, misguided perhaps due to your lack of knowledge about several certain things.”

“Make no mistake, I do not like the Guilds nor how they do business. They are however essential to the survival of my nation. They are the managers of our workers, it is from them that we are able to extract raw materials which we then sell to other nations, that is my nation’s most valuable source of income. To disrupt the guild’s is to disrupt that flow of income, which will destroy what GDP we have left. Disruption of the Guilds is not tolerable whether it is by flooding the market with cheap goods or causing them ‘mischief’”

“Also I know it was a part of your second phase but no CSN assets will be pulled from our Great March possession to be replaced by LNH or Vernii vessels. It is bad enough we are being forced to give up Yetti Star next week, ceded more systems even if temporally is not an option at this time.” He told the other leader shaking his head.

“What is an option though would be the funneling of certain supplies. Well I suppose I should come right out with it, that there are several supplies that we need the most here. Food and medicine. The Guilds do provide these services if only at a basic level to everyone, but in return for such services they expect loyalty. Another source of these supplies would be much appreciated. I do not see the need to be covert with providing these services. In three days I am making a trip to Alpha Centarui where I will be presenting the current state of my nation to the Liga. I will be requesting general Aid at that time. My nation is suffering, if the Guilds do not want to cooperate fully with me I will find help elsewhere. I will ask your support of my proposal.”

“Finally I say to you, if you want to cause the Guilds harm, to persuade them to listening to the workers go ahead, it will be a challenge I assure you. They have been managing the unions for a long while not. Each Guild is quite well protected and equipped with military-grade weapons. Before the War their security forces were 1/5 of the total fleet, now that ration has become even smaller. They are not an entity that will take well to mischief or attempts at intimidation.”

Darius's face softened a bit.

"This is all good to hear. The Liberation will support you in the Liga. Food and medicine will be ready to move as soon as we get the word."

That's when he smiled and offered a few final words before blipping out of the white oblivion. "Whatever differences we have, Mr. President, know that I want democracy in the Reich. As slippery as I may be, you can count on me for that."

Darius shouldn't have let it slip. His democracy was a delusion. He was delusional to even think the Homeland was any kind of democracy, at least while he still had the people in the palm of his hand. He should have known the WIckian would think it a joke that he even said it, the word "democracy," but it didn't matter to him. Darius believed it, anyhow.

"Until next time."

True Hope, The Morning Star system. Somewhere outside of Samson town...

Five fingers fisted fly towards him like they were painted on the front of a freight train. They connect with his jaw, forcing it down and to the right. The rest of him follows, swinging round about amidst the cheering and hooting and lights and bad music. The dirt floor tastes more like blood than dirt.

A bell rings and the round is over--the crowd all around is still cheering and hooting in the dimly lit underground arena. Money is passed between hands as bets are taken or paid. Above the stands patrol gaurds in street-clothes, all with assault rifles under their jackets ready to "enforce" any of the few rules that exist in hollowed-out aluminium shell-of-a-stadium. In the crowd sits a man--seemingly another fan--who sits from a fit of shouting to observe the opposite side of the crowd. He sees a fat man in a vanilla-white suit popping sharply against his darkened skin. His bald head sweats under the hot lights, the beads wiped off by one of four body-gaurds sat around him, each in differing flamboyant suits of their own--with the end of the round all five of them stand and begin out a back exit.

"H is on the move with 4 stooges--out the back," he whispers to himself as well as a team of other Kuma Adad operatives in a van outside the warehouse that sits above the noisy tin tomb, as well as several other operatives in the crowd who begin to file that way in pursuit. Outside operatives patrol about slowly, smoking and pretending to loiter or hold conversations.
______________

Below the fat man in vanilla reaches an elevator but is confronted by a smaller, attractive white-boy in the standard beige "I WORK FOR THE GOVERNMENT!" trenchcoat worn by many Kuma Adad agents. He holds up his handgun and stops the fat man.

"Hold it right there, scumbag," the white-boy quips with a smile.

"Who are you calling scumbag, you damned police pig-dog!" the fat man replies in the thick Arab accent of his homeland, smiling as well. "Agent Courtot, it seems that we meet this way more and more often," he reaches into his jacket pocket.

"And you..." the fat man tosses the agent a wad of 100 dollar bills, "... Mr, H., keep slipping through the Adad's fingers. Funny how that is."

The fat man, Mr. H., continues toward the elevator. "Funny indeed, Agent Courtot. Until next time."

"Until then..." the agent pulls out his radio to alert his fellow operatives. "There's no sign of H here. He must've taken another route, do you copy?"
______________

In the van the Kuma-Adad task force's leader fears the operation may be a total loss. "Fuck it, this club is illegal, they're all under arrest. Start rounding them up and search the premisis."

The underground chamber floods with operatives and agents screaming "GET DOWN" and anything else one might shout to stop a mob of scared criminals. The guards aren't stupid enough to get killed lie down their weapons. Shots right out in the chaos anyway, at least 5 dead, who knows how many wounded. They've stopped moving.

In the warehouse boxes are torn open revealing something alarming: aid. Rations, toiletries, and other usefuls all sitting around in some no-name warehouse owned by criminals.
______________

Kuma Adad Local Office, Samson Town

"We've got no way to confirm it, but this stuff, this aid, is supposed to be in Ticonderoga as part of the new agreement with the WIckian government" another nameless agent, this time dressed sharply, reports to his superior, Field Director Anheim N'jar, head of the Adad's (Kuma Adad's) local office. "The odd part is that all the tracking tech has been taken off of it, and we don't know how they did it. We can't prove it's the WIckian stuff because everything--the registration keys, the positioning equipment--it's all gone. As far as we know the only people with the resources to clean this stuff that well would be... well... another Regional power."

N'jar sits for moment behind his desk, twirling his the long, tipped end of his goatee. "You suspect international espionage?"

"I'm damned well certain of it."

"Well I can't go any higher with this until I can make them damn well certain of it. Loop me something solid and we'll continue."

"Yes, sir."
______________

Simulcon Industries building, Downtown Trinidan on True Hope

From his penthouse view Salhadan Kite can see nearly half of the Homeland's interum capital spanning off into the horizon. He sips his iced tea carefully as he stands before the massive plate windows. A small *beep* rings from his desk and a flashing red light appears on his monitor. He crosses the room to read his new message, now un-encrypted:

"Warehouse compromised, merchandise lost. Buyers unhappy, seeking alternate seller. Require instructions."

"Susan?" Mr. Kite asks, pressing the call button on his desk. "Could you get me a Nu-Space conference with our guild friends? Tell them there's been some complications and we need to talk. Alright. Thanks."

The Great March War is Over…

Channing Ansel, Hegemon and First Citizen of New Ortaga, has been dead for over three years. He was murdered by his own daughter as the Hegemony of New Ortaga’s Solar Navy commenced its grandest action in its history: the invasion of the Verniian home system of Gregor. The Solar Navy’s greatest moment—the culmination of centuries of military tradition, an epic record of conquest, and a force considered to be the only threat to the Star Empire of Valinon—was also its last. It was also the end of the Hegemony, the end of the Hegemon, and the end of the last Ortagan Empire.

At the Third Battle of Gregor the grand fleet assembled under the command of Solar Admiral Doral Hellings, known as the Warlord of the Great March, was routed by the Grand Coalition of Valinon, Vernii, Liberated New Hope, the Wickians, and the Vaku. Admiral Hellings was captured and two other solar admirals perished along with three quarters of the fleet. In a single battle over half the Solar Navy simply ceased to exist as a fighting force. Casualties were calculated in the hundreds of thousands as crewmen and Solar Marines, sent to commence a mass invasion of Vernii itself, were decimated by Coalition forces under the command of Grossadmiral Forrest of Valinon. The pitiful scraps of Hellings fleet vanished into history along with the era of Hegemonic status as a Great Power. Most went rogue, fleeing into the now chaotic Great March, but a few limped home to the Home Suns. When they finally arrived the survivors would find an even greater defeat than that of Gregor.

Defeat at Gregor left the Hegemony in ruins and besieged. The nation was stripped of its greatest military asset, its best commanders, its best ships, its best weapons, and all its assumptions that this war would be a quick victory. Vaku and Wickian war fleets were running rampant through the Great March on a course headed for the Home Suns. The combined fleets of Valinon, Vernii, and Liberated New Hope were rallying to bring the war to the Home Suns itself. And before the battle in Gregor ended Kendra Ansel had murdered her own father in an attempt to seize power as the new Hegemon and plunging the dying state of the Great Revolution into open civil war.

New Ortaga was now burning from within and without. The Interim Governing Council that shared control over the empire with the Hegemon had learned of Kendra Ansel’s betrayal and branded her a traitor. It named Jordan Galt, Polemarch of the Hegemony, to the office. The Council then stripped Strategos Cima Garahou, head of the Solar Forces, of her title and office when she followed Kendra Ansel into open rebellion with the fortress system of Axis. Ginias Saharin, infamous genius and weapons designer, was named as the new Strategos. But as the Solar Forces and legions of Security and Intelligence mir-vis loyal to Galt moved against the rebellious fleets, marines, and Observers of Kendra Ansel and Cima Garahou a new threat appeared.

The commanders of the Solar Army—graying generals and forgotten soldiers—had been repressed and neglected for years. Their disgust with Hegemonic atrocities and tactics too well known for them to be deployed in the field, but their size and importance as an internal policing body made them to necessary to be purged. But this graying cadre under the leadership of the charismatic General Yuri Kellarny had united with the dissidents and revolutionaries who had long called for Hegemonic tyranny and dominion. They rebelled against both Hegemonic factions, fighting the Roum Faction led by Galt and the Zealots of Kendra Ansel. They demanded the democracy long promised by Hegemon Ansel and long withheld. And now they demanded with armed force.

The fighting raged across New Ortaga from the distant systems of Xerxes and New Edo to the core systems of Roum and Gadsen. Silesia, capital of a vast empire, knew war in its streets the same as its provincial capitals. Martial law was declared, entire cities were subject to orbital bombardment by Hegemonic factions, and millions were killed regardless of whether they were combatants or civilians. The people of New Ortaga fought each other with greater zeal and veracity than they had their foreign enemies.

It would have been enough for the Grand Coalition to have allowed the civil war to rage. The destruction created by the Hegemonic war machine turned on itself was enough to level entire systems and sectors. But the crippled behemoth still wielded the power to take the rest of the Raumreich with it. Even in its death throws the Hegemony still possessed the Fenris Network, a vast array of automated weapons satellites and launchers capable of firing enough artificial gravetic weapons—more commonly known as singularity weapons—and sunbusters to wipe out most of the civilized Raumreich. Allowing Kendra Ansel’s crazed fanatics, the desperate forces under Galt, or even the tenacious rebels of Kellarny was simply not acceptable.

Two weeks after the Battle of Gregor the Grand Coalition finally launched its own invasion of the Home Suns. It was the hailed as the ultimate reprieve by Kellarny and the rebels, but for the Hegemonic factions it was the beginning of the final end. Within two days Axis had fallen, taking with it Kendra Ansel, Cima Garahou, and most of their supporters. It also rendered the Fenris Network inoperable when the command and control The important agricultural world of Immolan fell the same day, and the allied war fleets started to probe the core worlds still controlled by Hegemon Galt or those systems still a three-way battleground between the Hegemony, the few surviving Zealots, and the new revolutionaries. Desperate to preserve some shred of authority, some small powerbase, Hegemon Galt and Strategos Saharin gave the order for all fleets loyal to them to withdraw to the systems of Roum, Gadsen, and St. Ives, the three oldest Ortagan systems.

While Hegemonic forces rallied to Roum, General Kellarny and the revolutionaries tried desperately to preserve the resistance on New Ortaga itself. Bombarded, broken, and scattered the Solar Army and its allies could not last—especially with the remaining fleets returning home. But the unexpected support of the Merchanters, the wealthy, reclusive old families of New Ortaga, saved them and with the addition of new resources and their own heavily defended cities on the central continent of the Ortagan homeworld. The civil war in the Ortagan core systems stalemated while the outlying planets started to fall to the Solar Army or the Grand Coalition’s fleets.

Seeing the end of the Hegemony in sight, many of Galt’s supporters and some naval commanders decided to avoid the fate of defeat. Solar Admiral Midas Rackham refused to return to Roum, and instead declared himself a warlord while lying claim to the disputed system of Kerezin with the fleet under his command. Coordinator Kagoshima, a member of the Interim Governing Council, fled Roum and declared his personal fiefdom of two star systems independent. The system of Berchest, wary of Hegemonic, revolutionary, and Coalition intent, seceded and declared independence. It then sent terms for peace to the Coalition while declaring war against the Hegemonic remnant.

The members of the Grand Coalition finally initiated an invasion of Roum, the Ortagan home system, after being approached by the representatives of Kellarny’s revolutionaries and the Berchesters. It faced the last major fleet of the Hegemony led by Strategos Galt and Solar Admiral Grunger. The Battle of Roum, the first time the Ortagan home world had been directly threatened, was a total defeat for the Hegemony. Confronted by overwhelming odds, the last breaths of the Solar Navy’s morale collapsed. Hegemon Galt’s security forces fought on New Ortaga while entire Solar Marine regiments and Solar Navy warships merely surrendered to either Coalition or revolutionary forces. In a final symbol of the Hegemony’s collapse, Strategos Saharin led his own fleet in a retreat from Roum halving what remained of its defenses. He left behind the faltering Solar Admiral Grunger and all of the Interim Governing Council, including Hegemon Galt, before fleeing into exile in Mesa.

It was a matter of minutes before Admiral Grunger transmitted a message of surrender to the Coalition forces. He then gave orders to arrest Hegemon Galt, the Interim Council, and any other ranking offices of the Solar Forces before committing suicide. The war against the Hegemony was finally over.

Six days later representatives of the Grand Coalition and the newly declared Roum Administrative Authority (representing the liberated Ortagans) met with Hegemon Jordan Galt. The Armistice of Roum was signed acknowledging the unconditional surrender of the Hegemony and the dissolution of the Hegemonic Government. A month later, Jordan Galt, all surviving members of the Interim Governing Council, three Solar Admirals, sixteen Solar Marine generals, forty-seven Security and Intelligence directors, and twenty-two other Hegemonic officials were sentenced to death for war crimes, crimes against sentients, and crimes against civilization. Hundreds of others were condemned to prison sentences ranging from life to a decade. There were no appeals or options for parole.

Two weeks after the executions and over a month since the Armistice of Roum, representatives of the RAA signed the Second Proxima Centauri Accord establishing the reformed League of the Raumreich. The document was also signed by the members of the Grand Coalition (Valinon, Vernii, Liberated New Hope, the Wickians, and the Vaku), the other Successor States of the Hegemony (Tyrador, Kerezin, and Berchest), and all other major nations of the Raumreich with the exception of Saharin-dominated Mesa. At the first meeting of the new League, a resolution was passed raising a combined force to help the RAA secure and keep peace within its own space until a constitutional convention was held to bring about a formal, independent government. In return for League assistance the RAA, representing the Home Suns of New Ortaga, relinquished all claims to the other Successor States and all claims to any territories outside the Home Suns. General Kellarny agreed to the resolution on behalf of the RAA.

This was what should have been the crowning achievement of the factions that had resisted Hegemonic rule for so long, but it was almost immediately soured. When the convention in the old Ortagan city of Braavos was less than two weeks old, Valinor banks and other creditors started to repossess properties, infrastructures, and assets of private and public Ortagan corporations as they defaulted on the vast loans allowed under the Hegemony. As the already shattered economy reeled toward utter collapse, the members of the convention were forced to take drastic measures to give the Home Suns a functioning government as quickly as possible.

While economic ruin stared them in the face, the members of the RAA convention at last unveiled the Articles of the Suns. It was a leviathan document filled with compromises trying to appease as many factions as possible. The dream of a republic was aborted in favor of restoring the long-exiled House of Corrin to a new throne to secure the support and monetary backing of the also long-exiled aristocracy and Loyalists. But it was at least agreed the new Archon-Prince of the Federated Suns would be only the Head of State, and would renounced all claims to acting as the Head of Government. The Senate of the Suns was another bizarre creation. Portions of planets, especially those of the wealthy Merchanters, were allowed to elect their own Senators independent of the planetary delegations and the drastically depopulated worlds of Dylar and Seljuk relegated to being territories without direct Senate representation. Finally, the issue of the Federated Forces—the new military replacing the largely destroyed Solar Forces—was left virtually unresolved in order to prevent further dispute. It was merely agreed the Federated Forces should exist in some form.

Thus the Federated Suns of New Ortaga, the last and largest Successor State, was born. It came into being a state with virtually no military. What little protection it had came from surviving Solar Navy ships, the tired soldiers of the Solar Army, the private armies of the Merchanters, and the small—but powerful—fleet raised by the Loyalists in Valinon. It had no foreign policy or ties to the greater Raumreich community save for a seat in the League and ties to the either neutral or wary cousins of the Successor State community. Above all else, it came into the full inheritance of the economic and physical fallout caused by the years of Hegemonic abuse, mismanagement, and war.

But in three years the Federated Suns have shown they will not collapse as many initially suspected. A combination of protectionist legislation, belated League intervention, and the reformation of old public corporations finally stalled foreign creditors—even if it came after almost half the economy entered into foreign hands, most of them Valinor. The haphazard and bizarre constitutional monarchy of continues to function with no serious conflict between the Archon-Prince Tiberius Corrin I, Consul Yuri Kellarny, or the Senate of the Suns. The Federated Forces endure—if in a very small form—and even participate in international missions trying to bring ex-Hegemonic pirates to justice. Reconstruction of the devastated cities and communities proceeds to the extent most of the populace displaced by the Great March War now has something to call home—even if it is not luxurious. And even the attitudes of the people are beginning to recognize there is something to be seen for the future of New Ortaga after the days of empire have ended.

The road to recovery is not complete, but it is now far from the beginning. But the Federated Suns will soon be tested by the competitive and conflict world of the Raumreich as it moves to secure its own place in international affairs.

Contado Side Café, Silesia, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga
05.22.1304 AF
0822 Roum Local Standard

The Contado Side Café was one of the small success stories in the recovering world of Silesia. It had the fortune of setting near one of the ‘lev hubs servicing Residential Sector 9-a, better known as The Shell. It was a success story in a successful neighborhood, a business catering to the city’s working class moving closer to the reclaimed business and government sectors around the restored Whisper Palace. The Senate and the Consul may not have returned to the city yet, but people were acting like they would soon. The belief was not totally unfounded.

So every morning the Contado was a swarm of people grabbing Immolanese coffee, tea from Valinon, or the strange, harsher brew coming from Vaku space. They crowded the counter clamoring as they watched the ‘feeds showing the United Valinon News Network, Federated Public News, and SunsNet. These days its SunsNet, the new—thankfully Ortagan—holo feed finally replacing UVNN as a the major news source, on the largest display behind the counter. The slim form of Anstelle Marselles covers the morning news broadcast from the Federated Suns interim capital of Braavos.

“The Old Federation Assembly Hall is still being rocked by the Senate’s debated over funding for the Federated Forces,” Marselles says as the domed outline of the Hall centered on Old Braavos’s skyline appears behind her. “Senator Amante is speaking today in opposition of the proposed budget increase. She and Senator Silvius continue to lead the opposition saying the recently completed Intra-System Security Patrol Initiative is sufficient to secure border and customs security. Both have criticized the addition of two more carriers and another dreadnought to the Federated Navy as an excessive waste of money. They say the funding should be reallocated to the Outer System Reclamation and Recolonization project.”

Assorted grumbles for and against the embattled men and women in uniform erupt from the squall of café-goers. Toward the edges of the crowd a few debates spark off.

“Those in support of the budget increase have had little time in the Senate for the past week. But Praetor Constantine and Fleet Admiral Cantrell are appearing before the Senate tomorrow. The Senate has also requested Admiral Helena Larkin to discuss increased capital ship expenditures. Currently both sides in the Senate have said they have no interests in bringing the proposal to a vote for the foreseeable future. Consul Kellarny issued a statement yesterday on behalf of the entire Senate saying all Senators wish to explore the matter fully and make sure the proposal is seen from all possible angles.”

The image behind Marselles changes to the sweeping, gracefully lines of the Palace of Winds. Sequestered on the tropical Summer Isles of the Great Sea it serves as the official residence of the Archon-Prince and is the center of the new royal court.

“The intense discussion over the Federated Forces budget has many wondering if Prince Tiberius will speak on the issue when he appears before the Senate for a special address next week. The Prince has not disclosed his specific reason for addressing the Senate, but Lord Marsh announced earlier this morning Prince Tiberius is speaking with regards to the Suns’ future foreign policy. When asked about the budget debate, the Prince’s Hand said permanent security issues were not as an immediate concern to the Crown as foreign policy.”

The murmurs of debate quiet slightly. While called a prince, Tiberius Corrin is over 350 years old. But his older generation genetic pro-long treatments make him look older than newer generations of the same do now. When compared to Empress Freidelinde of Valinon or Emperor Alexis of Vernii he looks positively ancient. The last member of the old royal dynasty has led the remnants of the old Grand Duchy’s aristocracy in a swell of monetary and resource support for reconstruction efforts. He has also become part of the public face of the new government along with the more prevalent and popular Yuri Kellarny. But he rarely—in fact to date has never—addressed the Senate with regards to policy outside of very specific internal affairs. Under the Articles the Archon-Prince has no direct power over the Senate, although it and the courts are organized under his name, but his determination to see the reconstruction of the Suns completed and his generosity have given the old royal immense popular support. The Senators wouldn’t have an easy time of ignoring his statements, regardless of what side of the debate he came in on.

“This will be Prince Tiberius’ first public appearance since his return to New Ortaga after his visit to the League of the Raumreich two weeks ago. Lord Marsh said this was not due to any health concerns. He said the Prince had been busy with affairs of state, including the reception for the new Liberation ambassador next week. Marsh says the Prince still has no statement regarding the issue of his successor, which was the cause for much debate within the Senate at the beginning of this session. Currently there are no known heirs left to the Throne of the Suns, which has left many speculating with what future the monarchy has. The only other close relative to the Prince is Archduke Metternicht of Valinon, who has said he has no interest in the throne…”

The blinking of displays at the entrance to the ‘lev hub becomes more rapid as the next train approaches. There is a flurry of motion as those in line grab what they’ve ordered or dart to make the train. In a matter of minutes the line in the Contado is halved, with many relieved by their new position while wondering if they will make it to the counter in time.

Old Federation Assembly Hall, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga
05.22.1304 AF
1158 Roum Local Standard

Yuri Kellarny, Consul of the Suns, sat at the podium on the raised dais dominating the center of the vast chamber that had served the Federation of New Ortaga’s Grand Assembly. It had been designed to hold far more people than the twenty-seven member Senate of the Suns, but any Ortagan save a history student would have to count the seats to know how many the Assembly Hall could hold. The last child of the last generation who grew up with stories of the Old Federation as a child had been dead for centuries before Channing Ansel launched his revolution and named himself Hegemon.

But with the Whisper Palace and Silesia still recovering from the war there had been no where for the struggling new government of New Ortaga to meet. After a few months in one of the surviving defense platforms orbiting planet, the Merchanter families who controlled the cities and continents of Landing—the home of the oldest Ortagan cities—had finally agreed to let the government use Braavos as an interim capital.

It was a move Kellarny still hated. For starters it put the Federated Suns farther into the debt of the Merchanter families—a notoriously unwise thing to do with that particular group of economic sharks. Second was the attitude of Braavos and the other Grand Sisters that were Ortaga’s oldest cities. They had become so used to enduring the chaotic upheavals of the nation’s history they now assumed they could survive any government merely by outlasting it. The Senate of the Suns, the Consul, and the Solar Ministries may meet in the city, but the city could clearly care less about them being there. Unless it came to voting their own special delegation of three Senators, yet another example of the concessions made to appease the Merchanters. He couldn’t wait until the move to Silesia came in a little over a month.

And, if nothing else, maybe the colder climate would cool the legislative battles storming the Senate these days.

“The people of New Edo firmly believe the Senate must recognize the need to pursue the reconstruction of both the inner and outer federated systems with all the resources at our disposal,” Antonia Amante’s fiery voice echoes through the Hall. “The completion of the Intra-System Security Patrol Initiative has left all systems in the Federated Suns with enough system patrol craft and fast-strike cruisers to maintain security. These vessels—many using imported technology from Valinon and the Liberation that cost us billions of solaris—can be moved between our systems by use of the warp-gates in times of emergency.”

“This leaves us with no need for massed fleets of jump capable ships,” Senator Amante glares at her most vocal opponent, Marcus Wayridge representing New Ortaga. “The only purpose ships of this nature serve is to rearm the navy to pursue offensive war and to prepare for new waves of conquest the people do not want and that this government should not stand for—much less consider! The mere suggestions of the delegation led by Senator Wayridge are enough to show Roum has not abandoned unnecessary imperial ambitions-”

“Right of reply!” Kellarny looks up. He had wondered when Wayridge would decide he had heard enough of Amante’s rhetoric.

“The Consul recognizes the Senator from Roum for five minutes of reply,” Kellarny says with louder mummers coming from both sides of the debate. He bangs the gavel a few more times. “And I request decorum be maintained while Senator Wayridge speaks.”

Wayridge stands, “Senator Amante it is not the intent of either myself or my colleagues to reequip the Federated Forces for the purpose of conquest. We represent the belief of many of our citizens that our standing military is not enough to even patrol our own borders, much less defend the Federated Suns from a hostile attack. The entirety of the Federated Suns Navy consists of what would be no more than a battle squadron in any other navy outside of the Talbott Cluster. Our own admirals and captains have told us it is impossible—not impractical, but impossible—for the navy to deploy itself in a way that defends more than two or three systems at once in any war time scenario. You have had access to these same reports, Senators. As I have, as Consul Kellarny has, as the Archon-Prince has, and as the people of the Suns have!”

“This is not about the desire to conquer. This is not about trying to rebuild our military to the point we can challenge Valinon, Vernii, or the Liberation. This is a necessary move to provide for the security and safety of our people. If a government cannot provide that it has no business claiming the authority to rule.”

“Our system patrol craft and cruisers are enough to defend our borders from pirates, criminals, and dissidents,” Wayridge locks eyes with Amante. “They were not designed to fight openly with any major warship of any major power. We all know this, but we have fooled ourselves into believing in the illusion of our security. We need a stronger navy—not a massive armada. We need a navy capable of defending all of the Home Suns without having to leave one, two, or six other systems open to attack. That is what we are asking for.”

Wayridge turns toward the dais, “I yield my remaining time to the Consul.”

Kellarny nods, “Senator Amante, you may continue.”

“Yes, Consul,” Amante eyes Wayridge again. “There is no logical explanation for the military expenditures proposed in the new Federated Forces budget. Beginning a process of aggressive rearmament not only ignores our responsibility to advance reconstruction goals, it also sets a dangerous precedent which may lead neighboring nations to believe we are preparing to invade them. Our relations abroad our tenuous enough without having to worry about the possibility of being brought before the League of the Raumreich for sanctions.”

“It is our duty and responsibility as the representatives of the People and the Government of New Ortaga to reject this budget proposal and draft a new one that better accommodates the future and livelihood of our citizens. To do anything less is nothing less than betraying our constituents and our future as a nation. I now yield to any questions from the floor.”

Kellarny sits up, “The Senators has yielded her time to questions. Are there any questions from the floor at this time?”

“The Consul recognizes Senator Milligan, representing Immolan.”

“Thank you, Consul. Senator Amante are you aware the present naval deployment to assist with the anti-piracy patrols organized by the League are currently less than any other nation in the Inner Marches with the exception of…”

Kellarny looks to Amante and to Silvius from Xerxes. He continued to be amazed by the sheer tenacity of those resisting the budget proposal. Calling for the construction of a formal navy consisting of a single dreadnought squadron, twelve battleship squadrons, sixteen carriers, and enough cruisers and destroyers to actually support the intra-system defense squadrons was not a rearmament program. It was at most the bare bones force necessary to defend the Federated Suns territory—especially when the current navy was no more than three dreadnoughts, twelve battleships, eight carriers, thirty-two cruisers, and eighty-eight destroyers. The cruisers and destroyers were even warships left over from the Solar Navy, not the newer vessels designed by Loyalist engineers who worked in Valinon during the war.

Kellarny watches as many of the navy and army officers start to leave when the questions being put to Amante start to move toward softball questions of allies trying to build her position. He has a hard time making sure their looks of disgust and anger are not reflected on his own face. The office of consul was not one he had wanted to hold, but the vocal demands he accept the Senates appointment from the people, the military, and even the Archon-Prince left him with little choice. Kellarny was starting to realize it may have been necessary for him to take it in order to make sure this mad conglomeration known as “the Ortagan democracy” to other nations actually worked. But he was still far from admitting that without a fight.

The questions become fewer and fewer until eventually they are exhausted. Kellarny turns back to Amante.

“Senator, it would appear there are no further questions for you. Do you have any motions or proposals to present to the Senate at this time?”

“I would move the Senate consider a three hour recess at this time, Consul. This way the Senate may decide if it wishes to pursue this issue further, or if it wishes to table this discussion for the moment into address other issues on today’s agenda.”

Kellarny is not surprised in the least.

“Your motion is in order, Senator. Are there seconds? The Consul does see seconds and so we will move into voting procedure on this motion…”

Ten minutes later the Senate of the Suns stands in recess.

Old Federation Assembly Hall, Braavos, New Ortaga, Roum system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga
05.22.1304 AF
1744 Roum Local Standard

Kellarny looks up and makes a motion for Jenna Eco, his chief of staff, to cut her terse outline of the daily report short when he finds the doors to his office flanked by a pair of crimson-garbed guardsmen. The guards uniforms are trimmed with the white and gold reserved for the restored House of Corrin, and each of their shoulders bear the new crest Tiberius Corrin took after assuming the throne as Archon-Prince: an eagle with wings spread superimposed over the sun and sword of the Federated Suns.

“I didn’t know you were expecting a meeting with the Prince, Yuri,” Eco whispers.

“I wasn’t,” Kellarny nods as one of the Guardians of the Suns opens the door for him and he walks into the office. He sees a swirl of red and black robes as the Archon-Prince stands from his seat behind the rounded desk that dominates the office. The Prince’s action is followed by the robed figure of Julius Umberto—more commonly known by his title of Lord Marsh. Behind the Prince one of the ranking members of the Guardians—commonly called Knights—stands in the ceremonial armor and surcoat. By his surcoat’s lack of ornament Kellarny guesses he is one of the more junior members. But he knows the archaic style power armor is deadlier than it looks and a product of the technologically obsessed Valinor.

“Consul Kellarny,” Tiberius Corrin says in his conversational tones, “I apologize for my unannounced interruption into your routine. But I assure you I had some matters to discuss with you privately that were important. They simply weren’t important enough to interrupt a full session of the Senate.”

“Your Highness, I wish you would have interrupted today’s session several times today. It would have saved me a lot of headaches.”

Tiberius’ paternal face has a quiet smile, “You handled it well enough. And I think we can dispense with the titles, don’t you?”

“If you wish so, sir,” Kellarny nods. After the Hegemony no Ortagan is inclined to stand on formalities. Ansel’s Revolution and its titles had been more than enough. Thankfully Tiberius Corrin and most of his court were more than willing to oblige. And given the limited powers the monarchy had under the Articles of the Suns there were probably more important issues for both the monarch and the aristocracy to focus on.

But if anything Kellarny wished the Prince would occasionally be more vocal in the realm of the rest of the Federated Suns government. His voice had the force needed to belay the ludicrous positions of several Senators when it was used.

Corrin offers another nod and takes one of the seats across from Kellarny’s desk. Kellarny waits for Eco and Lord Marsh to join the Prince before he sits down. He watches as the Solar Knight drifts to stand behind the Prince again.

“I had wondered when I would hear from you,” Kellarny eyes Tiberius. “This announcement of your upcoming address to the Senate has all of Braavos shaken up. And Lord Marsh has done well at keeping the topic of your address vague.”

“I have a few plans for the advancement of the Federated Suns future I think the Senators and yourself should be aware of,” Tiberius says with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Of course it is nothing I expect the Senate to fund or put to vote, but it is something I think you all need to know about.”

“Really? Do I even want to know what it is?”

“I think you should want to know when the head of state might be taking a few weeks away from the nation, Yuri. This is especially important to you if we are going to consider the duties of your current position within the government. Julius, you do have the documents, correct?”

“Yes, My Prince,” Lord Marsh brings out a data pad and hands it to Kellarny. Kellarny takes it with a nod and skims through it. A few minutes later Kellarny looks at Tiberius Corrin with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

“A good will tour of the Inner Marches?”

Tiberius Corrin responds with a nod.

“I would say this was crazy, but I am sure Lord Marsh has already made similar arguments…”

“I have.”

“Then I don’t see any reason to repeat them since his were better. But I don’t see the benefit it this at the moment, sir. We need your help in pushing the Inner Suns reconstruction efforts and the re-colonization of Dylar and Seljuk forward. Then there is a good chance I may need your assistance in getting the Senators to see straight were our defense priorities are concerned.”

“Julius is more than capable of carrying on with my efforts in the reconstruction project, especially with the help of the small council and the rest of the Court. I have said numerous times before the re-colonization programs are the domain of the Senate, as well as the final decision with regards to our military expenditures.”

“And how do you think the Senators will take it if you decide to usurp their foreign policy programs?”

“I’m not usurping anything, Yuri. Whether Senator Amante and her cronies are willing to admit it or not our diplomatic corps has done almost everything it can. The rest of the Inner Marches are not going to take our change of nature on simple faith and the words of someone with the title ‘ambassador’ in front of his name. They all grew up listening to the morons the Hegemony used to call ambassadors spewing unfiltered garbage and propaganda in every capital of the Raumreich. We need to show them the Federated Suns are willing to make a commitment to rebuilding and reconnecting the rest of the sector.”

“You think this does that?”

“When you look at the success of the Centauri Peace Summit three years ago where all major heads of state where assembled I think it says volumes when any major head of state travels outside his own borders. It speaks even more if it is for something else than going to Valinon to speak before the League.”

The Consul and the Prince eye one another for a moment. Kellarny looks back at the plan the outlined on the data pad.

“I notice you don’t have a trip planned to either Vakutu or Ticonderoga. Somehow I don’t think that will go forward without a both Jukaga and Ginske venting what amounts to raw sewage into every public forum they can.”

“There is an explanation for that,” Lord Marsh interjects. “Prince Tiberius did wish to go to Ticonderoga but Sir Martyn and I both rejected that. The situation in Ticonderoga is growing far too volatile for anyone to go there without what amounts to a small fleet.”

“But I have arranged an audience with the Wickian ambassador to the League to discuss the possibility of a future state visit,” Tiberius finishes. “The Vaku government rejected an initial proposal I sent them. Emperor Jukaga believes it is sufficient for our governments to continue dialogue through the League and sees no reason for a visit or mission to his empire.”

“What a surprise,” Kellarny adds with enough sarcasm to boil armor plating.

“The Vaku will come around in time, or they won’t. No one can make them any more. But I take it from your lack of immediate objections you don’t see any major flaws?”

“Besides my earlier objections you mean. And since your mind is set on this I know there is little point in trying to talk you out of it, sir. But there is one thing I will try and talk you into.”

“Additional security? I think Sir Martyn and Julius will have that area—“

“No, sir, it is not security measures. It doesn’t involve your goodwill mission at all. I need you to speak in favor of the military budget. I see no other way to resolve it without leaving the Suns more vulnerable than they already are. And if this situation in Ticonderoga does dissolve into an all out crisis it could easily result in a stand-off between the Imperium and the Vaku. The situation will put the entire Great March on edge, even if the League or the Valinor get involved.”

“Yuri, you must understand my position regarding the legislature of this government. I won’t interfere in what is the expressed will of the people.”

“What Amante and the opposition are doing is not the will of the people. All the polls taken so far show over three-fourths of the Suns support rearmament in order to secure our own borders. Over half of the people in the streets feel—without being stupid—that the system patrols are wholly inadequate to defend our worlds. Anyone from Saharin to a well armed pirate or Hegemonic militia could stride through the Outer Suns or strike the Inner Suns before our own navy could even field a half-assed response. Amante is supporting her own foreign policy agenda and her own pacifist bloc’s idea that the Suns must remain totally unarmed in order to preserve the peace. If we were in Sol or some pacified outer quadrant of the galaxy that would work, but in the Raumreich it will not.”

Tiberius looks at Kellarny, whose posture has become with the mention of Amante and the opposition.

“There are still those that believe we may lead by example, Yuri.”

“With all due respect, sir, there were those who thought the Revolution was the way to a perfect future. Most of them are dead because they believed that even as the guardians of Ansel’s regime bombed their homes from orbit to preserve their grip on power. You don’t disarm and then expect your neighbors to. We can pursue international disarmament after we have rearmed enough to actually defend our own borders and our own people.”

The Archon-Prince leans back in his chair eyeing the Consul. Kellarny allows his own gaze to drift toward Lord Marsh, and he sees an expression suggesting the more politically inclined member of Tiberius’ small council may have tread this ground already. A thoughtful silence fills the room for several minutes.

“You are certain these polls are correct?”

“I can show you any you care to name, sir, and they all say the same thing. Lord Marsh can do the same. At this point I think even the Valinor or Verniian embassy could. Only Amante and her colleagues can’t see the numbers.”

Tiberius pauses for another moment.

“I will speak with regards to the military’s budget tomorrow then. But I will not call out Senator Amante or the members of the Senate opposing this bill. I will only say that the Crown and the Court—after hearing public opinion—stand beside the belief the Suns should rearm. But our goal is to defend our border not embark on some foreign crusade.”

Kellarny bows his head slightly, “Thank you, sir. I can say more than just our men and women in uniform will appreciate you doing that.”

“I would hope so, Yuri. Otherwise you would have been lying to me less than a handful of minutes ago. But I warn you once again, I will not become involved in the day-to-day affairs of this or any other Solar government. It is neither my place nor my role as head of state under the Articles.”

The Archon-Prince stands slowly, “Two fusion warheads thrown into the Senate chambers with one speech. I think that may be a record for my new crown.”

“I am sure we can have it documented as such if you would like, sir.”

“Please don’t, Yuri.”

Combat Bridge of the HSS Challenger, Surveyed System HS-22, Near the Dylar System, Unclaimed Space
05.22.1304 AF
1843 Solar Forces Standard

“Attention Dreadnought Challenger! Please allow our shuttles to return to the hangers! We need them to evacuate and proceed to Dylar! I repeat please allow our shuttles to return to the hanger so we may evacuate!”

Commodore Michael Neilson, formerly of the Solar Navy, turns to the task force’s tactical gunnery coordinator, “Signal to the Judgement and the frigates, orders to open fire at will and eliminate the reclamation team’s shuttles.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

Neilson turns to his own station’s displays in time to see a flurry of missile counters racing away from the Challenger, the dreadnought Judgement, and the pair of Roum class war-frigates providing their screen. In a few seconds the termination of the missile counters coincides with that of the shuttles forcible removed from the Federated Suns’ naval reclamation team freighters and transports by Neilson’s Solar Marine contingent.

“Dreadnought Challenger, please stop engaging our shuttles are unarmed! I repeat are shuttles are unarmed!”

A new voice breaks over the transmission.

“Captain Adler, the reactor has been compromised! The safety locks have been disabled! We will experience—“

“Cut the com line now, Mr. Bandlerson.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Then get me Colonel Boccacio.”

“Right away, sir.”

While waiting for the reply from Marine contingent’s commander, Neilson watches as the first of the freighters starts to blink rapidly and then vanishes. He looks up at the combat bridge’s optical screens in time to see the other vessels of the eight ship convoy join it one by one.

“Challenger Command, this is Alpha Team Actual.”

“Colonel, are our freighters secure?”

“Roger, Challenger Command.”

“And the star map order from the supply dump was acquired before the Federated Navy could commence a memory wipe?”

“Yes, Commodore, we have the files you requested.”

“Then have your men lay in a course for Peregrine. We will jump to rendezvous with the rest of the fleet in eight minutes starting…,” Neilson looks to his tactical officer and nods, “now.”

“Countdown commenced, Commodore. My men will have our new vessels ready to depart on the marker.”

Neilson cuts the com and looks at the rapidly expanding clouds of shrapnel and debris that used to be survey vessels for the Federated Suns’ naval reclamation program. This convoy was once of three or four dozen sent out by the new government in Roum to salvage any military hardware, software, or data left behind in the hundreds of supply and weapons caches left behind by the Hegemony. The equipment and materials found that were prohibited by the Grand Coalition’s Second Proxima Centauri Accords would be handed over to League of the Raumreich weapons inspectors, but the rest would go back to reequip the paltry forced the Federated Suns called a navy.

Neilson grinds his teeth when he thinks of what his homeland has become. The Revolution was far from perfect, but serving it had been far better than offering ones service to some sycophantic government held up by the arms of rebels and the fleets of the Grand Coalition. Neilson had never dreamed of surrendering after the collapse of Roum, but he doubted surrendering would have done him or his men any good. He had trained the men and women who had led the attacks on Erewohn, Thetis, Ticonderoga, and Gregor. His command had been among the ruthless hounds that had harried the flanks of the Wickian, Vaku, and Valinor joint fleet that had pressed into Ortagan space from Dylar and Thetis. Surrendering at Roum or anywhere after it would have resulted in an end of life by the noose or the firing squad after standing before a Coalition tribunal for a few days or hours.

But the age of the pirates and rebels left from the Hegemony was also coming to a sudden close. Neilson could barely even count the number of officers and ships that had been caught in the last year as Valinor, Vaku, Verniian, Liberation, Wickian, and even Ortagan warships had hunted them down. Even Midas Rackham’s Freehold and Kagoshima’s Free State of Tyrador had ceased to be safe havens for the remaining Hegemonic forces in the Great March. Those that still survived were banding together into larger fleets and either trying to pursue more aggressive acts of piracy—suicide as far as Neilson was concerned—or slinking away from the Inner Marches to the wilder, less patrolled space in the Talbott Cluster or beyond.

Neilson smiles slightly. He doesn’t intend to just slink away into the darkness of the Cluster and be forgotten. Instead he will buy his way into a new empire that will protect him from the persecution of the Coalition and its Ortagan lapdogs. There is one last weapon designed to defend the shipyards at New Edo that was hijacked by Observers at the end of the Great March War, and it is a weapon its designer would no doubt want returned to him. Michael Neilson knows the best way to stay in the good graces of Ginias Saharin is to give the now Hegemon and Strategos of Mesa something he wants.

FNSI Konpei, Axis system, Federated Suns of New Ortaga
05.22.1304 AF
1905 Federated Forces Standard

Captain William Ballantine, master of the FNS Roum, puts his hands on the edge of the tactical display showing a centered view of the border between the Federated Suns and the largely unorganized space under the “administration” of Grand Coalition member states. The line between Federated and League-mandated space is marred by a host of glowing red stars each marking a location where Federated Naval Intelligence believes the forces under the command of ex-Commodore Michael Neilson has attacked either a civilian or military target. Several of the stars are outlined in gold denoting Neilson’s attack on a non-Ortagan vessel.

“As you can see, Ballantine, these attacks are getting more frequent and more organized. FNI believes Neilson is trying to locate one of the c-fractional weapons platforms the Observers captured during the civil war.”

“Is that so?” Ballantine looks over the edge of his antiquated data-specs at the slender figure of Admiral Helena Larkin. The admiral stands with her shoulders squared and hands grasped tightly behind her back. Her hawkish eyes glare at Ballantine. Despite her impressive record as a commander in the pre-Revolutionary Solar Navy and her noteworthy campaign during the Great March War, Larkin has remained tense around Ballantine for years. Even while in exile in Valinon Larkin had been terse toward the famous tactician and commander who had won fame for himself in the wars started by the Grand Duchy of New Ortaga in an attempt to overshadow its horrible losses in the Colonial Wars.

Ballantine finds it ridiculous Larkin should fear him. He had fallen out of favor with the navy long before the Revolution for his brash independence and unique command style. He finds it almost as absurd as the fact that he commands a warship—much less one of the Suns eight Roum class carriers—at his age. But in order to stock the Free Ortaga Alliance’s small armada with trained officers and the almost equally small Federated Navy the Suns couldn’t afford to be that particular about simple things like age.

“You are questioning FNI’s assessment?”

“Not their assessment, Admiral. I question the target you suggested they believe Neilson is looking for. He’s raiding supply caches we know are more data dumps, battle orders, and research store facilities than ammunitions depots. He’s doing this despite the reports we received from Commander Swanwick’s engagement with him that he has initiated what appears to be a program of missile and drone platform conservation. I want to know if FNI really thinks Neilson is going after the Forge Device.”

Ballantine studies Larkin’s cooling gaze at the mention of the mythical shadow still casting doubt onto the international reputation of the Federated Suns and its new armed forces. The Forge Device had been another weapon designed by Ginias Saharin and given operational clearance by the Hegemony before his death. It was in essence a gravimetric shield generator adapted for offensive purposes. What designs and schematics the Grand Coalition and the Federated Forces had been able to uncover about the device in the fragmented and largely destroyed records of Axis and Roum gave clues its strength might be enough to allow it to attack a world with numerous asteroids accelerated to c-fractional speeds or crack a planet’s moon.

Ultimately the power of the device had not mattered during the Great March War. Observer strike teams had captured the weapons platform from its birth in the New Edo shipyards. But Saharin had installed a failsafe mechanism. A network of bio-toxin delivery systems scattered around the platform had been activated before it could jump. Presumably it had jumped successfully, but Saharin and Galt’s forces had been unable to recover it. Information from interrogated SecInt prisoners had confirmed the two Hegemonic leaders believed the Forge had been moved somewhere between the Great March and the Talbott Cluster. But the appearance of Coalition war fleets over New Ortaga had put a sudden end to their attempts to track the device down.

Rumors of the device persisted after the war, and records discovered by Coalition and Federated forces in old caches used by Observers to launch raids during the civil war had said the platform was relocated. But the Observers had never had the means to purge the ship to board it. Reports of its existence had been covered up ever since. It was a desperate move, hoping to find the weapon in secret and assume anyone who had found it would have already announced its discovery or simply use it.

Larkin’s mouth twitches in what might have been a suppressed smile.

“FNI does believe the Forge is Neilson’s ultimate objective, but he clearly thinks he can pursue it on his own timetable. His latest attacks two weeks ago show he is doubling back into the Great March. We presume he is doing so to try and find additional munitions for his own vessels. I believe it is our chance to stop him before he vanishes like too many of these Hegemonic pirates have in the last year.”

“My ship is a good vessel, Admiral, but I cannot fight Neilson in an open battle. One of those dreadnoughts can get close enough and reduce the St. Ives to a debris field. It would take a battle squadron to bring him down.”

“It’s a battle squadron we don’t have,” Larkin says bitterly. “And we’ve exhausted all our other options.”

“Then the Valinor won’t contribute any additional vessels?”

“Tereshkova,” Larkin almost spits the name, “says her vessels are spread thin as it is. I am inclined to believe her even if it is terrible convenient for them. The Valinor government seems to think it can make due with anti-piracy and peacekeeping patrols in the Great March while the Verniians and the Vaku dance around each other like a pair of Vikings wielding dull hammers.”

Ballantine inclines his head, “The Valinor are staying home these days.”

“Who can blame them? The war left them as the last of the traditional super-powers in the Inner Marches. I wouldn’t waste that sort of power either. Tereshkova did promise support if we can ascertain Neilson’s exact position, but that was her only offer. But I think that we have a viable alternative.”

Larkin turns the center of the map to the border between the Suns and Liberation space, “The Silver Fleet has the ships we need to hunt down Neilson, and they have been harried more by Hegemonic rebels than anyone else except us. Fleet Admiral Cantrell has given orders to assemble a modest task force with the Ives as its leading ship. We want you to operate close to Liberation space and try to get into contact with the Silver Fleet. You will have the authority to present them with a proposal for cooperation to capture Neilson. By our information he is the last major Hegemonic officer operating in the Great March. You will also disclose any additional information you find about his whereabouts or plans with the Liberation freely, but you will exclude the knowledge of the Forge Device.”

Ballantine nods, “Did Admiral Cantrell name any specific ships as part of the task force?”

“The cruiser Navarre and the destroyers Wraith and Shield will by placed under your command for the duration of this mission. Two tenders will also be made available for you in Seljuk, but may be moved elsewhere at your discretion. Additional details are provided for you in your orders.”

Larkin produces a disc from the pocket of her uniform.

“Admiral Cantrell expects you to have your command assembled and ready to depart in two days, Captain. I believe that leaves you with enough work to do. Dismissed.”

Ballantine salutes and then withdraws from the small briefing room. He starts to walk back down the halls of the new command facility for the Federated Navy hallowed out of a piece of the massive asteroid formerly known as the HSF Solomon. He can still smell the cloying smell of freshly produced metal and plastic as he starts making his way toward the elevators that will take him back to the hanger his shuttle is in.