NationStates Jolt Archive

The palace complex was filled to the brink with the crowds, people from all around the imperial city had gathered to hear the words of their sovereign. The wooden platform had been assembled above the stone stairs leading up to the palace doors, and the entire Taledonian senate stood adorned in their best court togas behind the rostrum where Emperor Julian stood, Consul of the Republic. He wore a simple but expensive tunic of white underneath the golden breastplate, the grieves of matching sparkling gold on his shins and the bracers, same, on his wrists.

Taking up half the square, from wall to wall, were the legions Primigenia and Altor, the two consular nations assigned to the protection of the Republican capitol, the only armies allowed in or near the city. They were arranged in rectangles that spanned the forum, perfectly similar in their stances, weapons over their shoulders and attentions turned forwards. Behind them, the massing crowds who were able to squeeze into the square, many of which were being squished against the high stone walls of the compound where many elite sharshooters stood, ready to deal with any trouble.

"Soldiers, citizens, people of Taledon!" Julian bellowed, his great orators voice being only hightened by the comm system, "Today, is a great day in our people's history! Today, the glorious legions of the Republic shall move out into the universe, lead by myself, and together, we shall bring order and civilisation to an unenlightened people! Today, the Empire, and thanks to the word of Consul Avery of Zarathoft, the Republic in its whole, hereby declares war on the hethen nation of Quagonia!"

He paused as the crowds erupted, and the soldiers began thumping their weapons against their ankles, a sign of approval. Julian turned and motioned for a Senator to come forward, and handed the consul a golden spear with ornate markings. Raising his hands for silence, Julian continued, "I hold before you, the golden spear of war! Now, people of Taledon, who is the enemy?" The crowds erupted into a cry, "Quagonia!" was taken up by thousands of throats. A Quagonian flag was spread out below the platform, and Julian launched the spear into its center, as the men holding it lit it aflame. The crowds erupted into another cheer as they watched it burn.

The Imperatrix watched the flames skip and lick over the tattered vestiges of the flag. Burning the Imperial Standard meant instant death in the Quangonian Imperium, yet as these foreign savages twirled their barbaric little dances around the ashen heap, she could not contain a smile from brushing her face...impishly.

"What is this, Samson?"

"They are of Taledonia, Worthiness."

"Yes, I have been briefed. I mean, what are they doing? What are they saying?"

"It's some sort of demonstration."

"And what are they saying?"

"...'Death to the infidels.'"

The smile widened, to hint at sheer white tooth. "Vey well, Samson." She closed the communication channel, and moved to the window. It was night, and the breeze rustled the thick, low trees like a snake moving through grass, towards its prey.

"Worthiness, General Zarkov awaits your orders."

She wheeled, sharply. "He told me it was of no great urgency..."the idle threats of a hopeless despot". Those were his words. Did he lie?"

Lying to the Imperatrix also meant instant death. Many things, in fact, meant instant death in Quangonia, a thought no doubt weighing on Samson's mind as he licked his thin lips. "For shame, no, Worthiness. However, a swift response would be pleasing to the people."

She snorted - as if she cared for the plebeian opinion. "So I should rush into dignifying some barbarous strangers with my attention, for the sake of the scum that sift through the mines and factories and slump heavily in bars and brothels?"

"The traders are anxious, Worthiness."

She sighed, like a mother. "Very well. Tell the General he has free reign. I may give an address, tomorrow. Now leave me."

Samson bowed out.

* * * * *

Zarkov gnamed at the scraps of meat adorning his podgy fingers, dabbing wine from his fat cheeks. The small cartel of officers clustered around him shuffled; watching the General eat was never a pleasant site, and they had been standing doing so for some time. At last, his heavy set eyes caught the glimpse of Samson sliding blackly past the door, with a single, short nod. He burped massively, and eased himself up to a sitting position, gut flopping onto his lap.

"Very well. I don't anticipate this leading to anything - more hot air and bustle - but we have the economic interests of the Imperium to protect. All medium-range traders are being recalled, and have been guaranteed safe berth. All stations are to go to Alert Level 2.

"The Seventh Fleet will dispatch immediately, to serve as convoy for several important shipments coming in to Four. The Ninth will go on alert to guard the colonies. And the Second and Third are to deploy, at full battle status, to the foremost Imperial borders. They have been instructed to conduct immigration and smuggling drills, but they will be accompanied by deep scanning vessels.

"Finally, Admiral Terper, you will assemble all priority forces to guard the homeworld. Keep them engaged in manouevres, and clear the lanes of civilian shipping - no need for extra alarm."

He stood, and the officers came to attention. "These sort of slights will come to nothing, but allow them to be perpetuated is a dishonour on the name of the Imperatrix, and the Imperium, and I will not allow it." He turned, pointedly, to General Schenden. "Round up and detain any Taledonian merchants operating at our stations, and detail house arrests of any settlers with links to them. Should they decide to snip at some trade routes or a lone patrol ship, I trust you will display your usual, admirable, devotion to mercilessness."

The officers trooped out, exchanging the usual glum whispers and half-jokes, and Zarkov sat again, the couch groaning painfully. He began to stuff thick, juicy grapes into his mouth, the red juice running down his face to drop off his chin, into his lap.

Caesarius walked through the corridors of the vessel, attempting to keep up with the quick pace of the guard that led him towards Julian's quarters. He didn't like the fact that he had been woke from his bed at such an hour, regardless of the fact that space was dark at all times, but when the Emperor calls for his physician and the guard gives no explanation, then you don't waste time argueing about the matter. Rounding the corner, the guard pressed a button, opening the room door before taking a post outside as Caesarius walked inside.

Julian was up and passing around the room, his hair in a mess and his white tunic ruffled. He looked up at Caesarius as he entered, before turning his attention back to the ground and continued his pacing. "Good morning Julian, what's the problem."

The consul stopped again, and looked up at his old friend, "I had a dream."

Yawning, Caesarius replied with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Dreams are a normal thing, Julian, we all have them, nothing to be worried about. Is that all you woke me for?"

"It's the same as the ones I had during the civil war, where the woman came in, holding the burden in her hands, and offering it to me with tears." He seemed to be staring off into space as he spoke.

"Not this again. Julian, leave the sightseeing to the priests, and get rest. We should arrive at the fringes of the Polly system soon, and you'll need to be refreshed if you expect to be at the head of the men tomorrow. No nation would take a drooping eyed insomniac as a serious threat." Caesarius scratched the back of his head as he yawned again. "I'm going back to bed old friend, I suggest you do the same."

The inky blackness of silent space seemed unmoving, even as the massive battle fleet trekked through it. It was a veritable invasion force, with the center encompassing over a hundred Taledonian vessels, with the flanks secured by Zarithian, Covenant, and Mandalorian vessels. The ships form the many other nations of the Republic proudly glided beside them. FTL travel had been used to get close to the system, but seeing as how the drives of each nation varied in speed, the last trek would be made purely on the massive thrusters of the behemoth war vessels to ensure that the entire fleet arrived at once, giving off the greatest effect of fear. Soon, the stars would burn, and those that resisted the legions of the Republic would be cruxified along the major roadways of the planets, letting the heathens know the price for refusing good Republican order.

The warm hum of the bridge equipment consoled Sub-Admiral Deinad. He stood, one leg crooked straight across the other, arm stiff against his fur-draped chair, surveying the communications officers scurrying forth like rats. Their fervent glances, anxious prods, slow stares, shaking of heads in one monotonous conga...it was not good news. The little dots lit up their screens like fireworks on a celebration night sky. There was a fleet - an armada - out there, and it was not slowing down.

"Can we not get anything more exact?" muttered one of his commanders, to himself, yet to all.

"Too far away," came an answer.

"Well, that's good."

Good? All it meant was that they would be forced to watch, like a fly stuck at the very edge of a spider's web. Deinad coughed roughly - he had not slept well - and moved forward slowly. The bridge commanders glanced up, flitting to hurried aversion in a heartbeat.

"The last of the miners have left, sir."

Deinad nodded. An entire mining commune, one of the most prosperous in the Imperium, washed out in a second, every last scrap torn up in the mad dash for safety. Tiny escape shuttles streamed past the battle fleet; lights aboard the station twinked out rapidly. It had been mined.

"Contact Admiral Villar to arrange the liaison. Run a full inventory, for battle status. Real battle status. I don't want rust blocking my firing line."

"Yes sir."

The commodore - an honest, sturdy man no doubt soon to hit one of the common vices of the senior officer corps - shuffled off, and Deinad paced back. He had led the Ninth Fleet for twelve years, and his ships bore the scars of a thousand campaigns over. But he was known and trusted, and now he knew every man who had ever served under him was dependent on the actions he would take over the next few days.

"And get me some coffee."

The commodore peered back over his shoulder, finger stabbing the communication control. It'll be a woman, Deinad bet himself: too stiff for drink, too dull for anything more. A woman will wreck this man.

"Admiral, the Ninth aren't going to rendezvous...they've been ordered to proceed and engage."

That is, if she got the chance. "Wait on the coffee, then."

* * * * *

The Imperial Quangonia Navy had once been like some eternal jouster, overseeing victory after victory, rolling back enemy territory like it was skinning a fish. But four years of little but paltry humiliation by pirates and anarchists had dulled and soured every vital temperament of the force, and the repair yards of the Imperium were clustered with rust buckets and chipped, battered, bruised excuses, edging in and of service, and always fighting back to the latter. Once a prizefighter, it had become a stooge, steadily willing to fall, but unsure when, and how, to do so.

And, as the shipyards ran at full tilt to correct the sloth, as new metal ran from mines and mills in streams of hot silver, as barracks were cleared for conscripts and recruits, it showed. The Second Fleet was running at forty per cent strength, the Third at sixty-five, the Seventh at fifty-eight. The Ninth, scrambling towards the frontiers, could muster a solitary quarter of its battle ships.

The supply lines were well-prepared, however. Ousted colonists and miners ran emergency stations, out of choice or to avoid the whip's second crack, whilst shipping lanes saw the heaviest influx of small craft since the great explorations of twenty years prior. Nor was there a shortage of ground troops clustering on the homeworlds.

Yet all through the Imperium, fringing every communication, toning every conversation, shadowing every movement, was a creeping dread. The Imperatrix's address had been not the airy dismissal to which many had grown accustomed, but instead a heavy, resolute call to strength. Why was it needed? Who was coming? What did they want? As one, the Imperium rested, poised to leap towards every answer that arrived.

"A stirring speech, Worthiness."

"Indeed, rousing. Most rousing."

"The words of a true leader."

Schenden, the fourth in the quartet of attending officers, stood silent. There was a nervous flutter.

"I was most impressed," he said, rolling each letter round his teeth with an icy clatter.

The Imperatrix did not turn, though her crimson dress shoulder had dappled noticably at the fourth laudation. She continued to watch the small fruit bush, its bulbous purple carcasses bobbing, faintly. The sky broiled iron red and steel grey above her, thin clouds slashed by the streams of craft leaving the surface.

"Yes," she spoke. Her long eyelashes fluttered in the dimming sun. "What news of the fleets?"

"Well-stocked and ready, Worthiness, the loyal forces of the Imperium await their grand task eagerly."

She turned sharply, so sharply that Admiral Terper fell back a pace. Samson and Schenden, more used to her, merely waited on. "An excellent line, General, an excellent line. Remind it to seek employment at my lips next address."

"Yes Worthiness," muttered General Zarkov, his eyebrows twitching out his indecision in bright semaphore.

"But what truth in it."

"Every truth, Worthiness."

She studied him, his puffy face, his fat-stained shirt, his tubby, encrusted fingers, and turned back to resume her intense scrutiny of the fruit. She plucked at one with her long obsidian nails, drawing from it sweet orange blood as she raked its mauve skin. She bit, devoid of hunger.

"I am quite surprised General, I must say, at your restraint. Were I in your position, I would be surely underselling myself, as a matter of insurance."

"No such insurance is needed, Worthiness."

She glanced over her shoulder, her smile painted deep yellow and bright orange. "Well, then your head will be safe."

She stalked off, a previously invisible guard folding from the bushes to follow her. Samson peered at the General, the faintest shake to his greying head, and left after her. Zarkov sighed. If only...

It was not far now, the first planet of the Quagonian's territory, only a day or two more and they would be at it, and the glorious legions would be deployed to the surface to ensure the surrender of the planet. The fleet continued it's slow, lumbering pace, like Death seeing no need to hurry, knowing he would soon have his prey regardless of how fast he went.

"Commander Leer, we're picking up multiple vessels approaching the fleet, apparently of Quagonian design. An exact number can't be made out, but I'll keep on it, sir." reported a crewman as his consul lit up. His superior nodded at hearing the news, and made his way up the stairs to the catwalk that allowed a full view of the bridge, where fifty or so men worked the various command stations of the ship.

"Admiral Sulla," Leer began as he approached the four figures at the end of the bridge, who stood talking amongst themselves and looking out the large windows at the moving fleet. "We've detected a fleet of Quagonian vessels heading to intercept."

Julian looked at Sallustius, then at the Admiral, waiting for the man's orders. He may of been the Emperor, and Sallustius may have been his war advisor, and Caesarius may be a good fighter and physician, but they had no experience with space battles, and the aging High Admiral had been left incharge of the fleet. "Send a message to the fleet, have them form up in tight formation, shields raised and weapons charged. Supply vessels in the rear and shield ships positioned in differing positions. Once they're all in position, have them raise the space shields. We'll be ready for them, and I doubt if anything they've got can penetrate the space shield, much less have enough strenght afterwards to do anything to the individual shielding of each vessel. All pilots to their hangers, ready to go."

The commander salluted smartly, before turning to relay the orders to the crew, who would then send them out to the armada. Sulla turned to the window and peered straight ahead of the fleet, expecting the enemy to arrive anytime soon, and he welcomed it. A quick victory would crush the enemy moral severely, not to mention the physical impact it would have on their defencive forces.

There was an old Quangonian folk tale, officially suppressed as a heresy but still whispered in every household, of a day when the heavens burned, not long after the first settlers had clustered together to form the dwellings that began the cities now standing proud at the heart of the homeworld. It had in all probably been a heavy meteor show, or the debris of some lost craft spiralling into the peculiar atmosphere, to which the settlers had not yet become accustomed, but to them, it had been some assault on their new prosperity by demons. Strange that a race advanced enough to trawl the stars for a new home still held recourse to such superstitions - but then, no stranger than any of the wonders their sciences had already choked in explanation.

Admiral Callisthius now felt that same cold dread as his heavens burned. Weapons fired massively, banks of energy bathing every portal in the ship with bright, glaring light, the collective volleys tearing through the skies like some locust storm. And, just as long ago the settlers had cowered as the stones beat their roofs, and the lights battered themselves uselessly into the lower atmosphere, expiring exasperatedly in the air, now Callisthius shuddered as every strike dissipated in faint, impotent haze in the massed shield wall before the opposing their fleet. He feared not that no weapon would eventually make a piercing blow...but of what would come in retaliation.

The fleets had engaged earlier that day, and had since been locked in steady stalemate. Some kind of vast shield protected the Taledonians, and it had rendered the initial plan - to swiftly raid their vanguard with columns of tiny fighters - entirely useless as the craft met the approximate demise of a moth in a bug-catcher.

Of course, reinforcements were pouring in, and at the moment, they had suffered little depletion, but there was only so much time, and only a third of the planet's inhabitants had as yet been evacuated. As reports of two heavy battleships being destroyed to the left flank sounded over the bridge communications channel, he wondered now what the colonists below on the planet saw in the fiery exchange, whether it held for them too the same ominous awe.

Since the beginning of the battle, the Republican forces had been giving little effort into the counter-strike, lashing out with simple turbo lasers and long ranged torpedoes, nothing serious, but they seemed to have the advantage, as the shielding was holding well, and the enemy had lost two vessels as of yet. But as the day-or was it night, hard to tell in the darkness of space-the fleet grew tired of the bothersome roadblock, and it was time to finish with it. The order was given, and the true power of the Republic was unleashed.

In a hail of fury, the center of Taledonian vessels unleashed the deadly energy cannons, the great guns recoiling as each blast of energy was released and sent flying towards the defenders. The covenant flank opened with plasma cannons, while the Zarithians let loose with everything they had, as did the hundreds of other vessels within the armada. But perhaps it wasn't enough, perhaps some overkill was needed. And thus, as if a swarm of locusts, thousands of fighters and bombers spewed from the ships, engaging their thrusters to quickly clear the main shield before they began to take evasive maneuvers and unleashing their own blasts. The scene was a true testimate to the power of the Republic, and it would not fail.

He had watched them fall, watched them all fall. The hotshots and Admiral-wannabes and brats and louts, every kid he'd trained besides, now every officer in his wing, shrivel into spectral dust as the Taledonian forces swelled forwards. He'd never especially cared for any of them - nor had they ever shown signs of finding in his quiet reservation anything worth connection. And so his throat-drying awe was not so much remorse as simple acknowledgement: out across the crumbling fleets, how many other Lieutenants watched as their whole lives and everyone they had known for ten years were whittled away in the bright glare of the energy cannons? How long would it be before this living nightmare was splayed across the eyes of every subject of the Imperium?

Still, his orders stood. The space station, a small blip of a thing, insignificant save for the precious biolabs aboard it, lay beyond the asteroid belt; it had to be defended. The Taledonians had pushed past it, but one stray division had been sighted slipping off their flank. The chasing squadron burnt up around him in ragged despair, but he kept on. There were four ships - all smaller than his, but quicker. And, besides the hum of electronics, the beep of control panels, the greasy slipping of his gloves as he reeled off a brace of torpedos, he carried on after them in utter bereft silence. The two tail ships failed in glowing crimson plumes.

The asteroid field was negotiable, but still testing. His sensors could barely pick up the tiny rocks quicker than he could see them; the larger ones - some spanning hundreds the lengths of his craft - seemed to hurtle on even faster. Worse, the Taledonian ships were weaving through much more intricately, much more successfully, and getting away. Everything he fired ricocheted away harmlessly, blocked by the next approaching spacerock, sometimes shattering them, and sometimes simply dissipating into space. He was too entrenched now to try to get above the belt and fire down - it was too broad, and he would probably lose them anyway.

Then he caught a flashing glimpse, and fired. The laser peeled away the edge of an engine casing of the Taledonian ship - hardly worth writing home again. But luck was with him. Well, he'd just seen his entire navy smacked down. He had something coming his way, surely. A jet of engine fuel lit, and sprayed up and out like a firework, marking the ship's every twist and turn. He could follow it, rounding an ice-frosted lump the size of his house, and opened up the full force of his arrays. The Taledonian craft exploded magnificently, and as he rode the disruption caused by the debris, he had to marvel at the fine mist enveloping the view portals for a second.

It cleared sinkingly, as he dodged some kind of energy weapon. The remaining Taledonian was above him, firing down. He couldn't now outrun him - they were approaching the thickest part of the field, and in fact he could barely move at all, any deviation from the narrowing channel he was hurtling down liable to end...messily - and at the same time, would not be able to sustain much of a counter-attack. The Taledonian would chase him towards the station, wear him down, and leave his carcass to prey on the station.

He banked sharply, so sharply his neck felt like snapping. As it lashed forward, his eyes levelled on the sight of the Taledonian craft splatting firmly into a broad expanse of asteroid. He twirled a brief loop-the-loop, and then carried on to this station. The cockpit buzzed - "65% depletion...full retreat...Taledonian landers at Zavron...all ships regroup...reinforcements in eight hours..." - but he didn't listen, as he carved four careful notches into his cigar case.

An offer walked stiffly towards the High Admiral, saluting and handing him a data pad. Sulla smiled to Julian, "Well that didn't take long. They are in a full retreat." He turned to face the officer, "Have the fleet move to orbit around the forest planet. My lord, are your legions ready to disembark towards the surface?"

The Emperor turned, "Oh come now, not even gonna land a few of your big destroyers on the planet? It takes less time for us to unload that way. You know what, I order it. Give me six, have the legions ready to disembark, and my shuttle ready to descend to the planet as well." He watched as the officer saluted and then was away.


In perfect blocks, the thousands of Taledonian shocktroopers filed out of the large warships that had crushed several large trees on their descent. Three whole legions would disembark on the planet, with the Taledonians moving down first because of their ability for open combat and their unmatched dicipline that would make them unable to falter and retreat before the rest set foot on the ground in reinforcements. They took up formations, creating a perimeter around the landing zone, while the battle tanks and mechs unloaded, followed by the eager and bloodthristy Covenant troops, the grunts filling out excitedly while the elites moved cooly down the ramps and slid down the gravity lifts. The Zarithian troops, trained for mostly airdrops behind enemy formations, climbed lazily out of their transports as they landed on the uneasy soil covered by downed trees. The mandalorians in similar discipline to the shocktroopers moved out last, a strong rear just incase, but what could come out of their own ships?

"The sun sheds its grace too brightly," Julian muttered to himself as he looked at the sun. He felt a bit sorry for his troops, all in full gear to create a better show, while he himself wore his ceremonial armour, the white tunic of cotton and the breastplate of gold.

"Sir, the capitol, or what we think is the capitol, is just a few hours march of here. The men await your command to move out." reported an officer, the bright red plume on his helmet displaying his rank as a centurion. Julian nodded, and signalled for his horse to be brought over. True, it was a primitive way of travel, but it made a good impression, and he did enjoy a good ride. Plus the thought of being stuck in a transport in the stiffling heat of the planet took an influence on his choice.

When she was younger, Sara had loved the Princess Sara Fights The Gorgoids! stories. They were cheap comics, with the same hackneyed plotline each time, but they'd enchanted her. After all, here was a beautiful, intelligent Princess with the same name as her, whizzing around the galaxy in a pink spaceship fighting aliens. All the usual books and stories featured some pathetic girl being taken hostage, pathetically, and being subject of a pathetic rescue by heroic men. But not Princess Sara. She was a real hero, able to defend herself against the evil-but-incompetent Gorgoids, and it was her doing the rescuing, usually of her robot friends Ernie and Spudwise.

It was eight years since she had put down her last Princess Sara book - after her father had fallen ill, his trips to the capital to buy luxuries like them had become less frequent, and when she herself went, she found them too expensive. Besides, they were for children - and neither of her young brothers would have been interested in them. But now, as they lay quivering against her, her fingers playing with their hair half out of reassurance to their strained sobs of dread, half of anxious nervousness herself, she wished she was back with Princess Sara, so she could just kick and punch and shoot her way out of all this, and fly off home.

Everything was wrong. It was only early Spring, and the usual heat was out, but she shivered with cold sweat soaking her shirt. Fires normally burned off the last of the winter wood; now the smoke pluming out above the tree tops reeked of metal and rubber and worse. The spring sun was not its perky itself, the sky scarred with red and grey as the great craft had descended. The sounds that echoed through the woods were even out. Normally, however deep the growls, however harsh the roars, they were a sign that there would be meat on the table in the evening. Now they were screams of terror, or whole hours of dead silence.

Her father shouldn't have gone. He could barely walk at times, yet cane in one hand and gun slung over the shoulder, he'd headed off with the other local men. He hadn't been back in three days. The food was already running low - she couldn't discipline the boys for wolfing their rations, not now, their mother still warm in her grave and their father probably heading that way...no. She shook her head, couldn't think that, no.

The noises had been building, the sporadic exchanges of explosions creeping up. She'd seen one clearing where she'd first learned to ride her combobike burning with a campfire - no local people would light a fire like that. A house over the way had lit with strange green at dusk. And now it was quiet, no birds or animals, no rustle of wind of trees, not even the sound of anyone fighting. Perhaps...?

The door crashed in, toppling with a weary thud. She stifled Leo's loud cry with her hand, and as she clutched them to her so tightly her ribs hurt, she found herself praying for Princess Sara to come back.

The councillors sat in hushed reverie, trying not to watch the scenes on the small display panels, grimacing with every glance that stole them.

"Maybe we should call back the militias? It...it doesn't look like they're accomplishing anything."

"They're slowing the advance," came the immediate reply from the Council Elder.

"Like a fly slows a train when it hits the windshield, you mean?" The Finance Elder copped grim scowls, but for his truth, not his tongue.

"Anyway, we didn't even order them out. We don't have the authority to pull them back."

"Jensar, we are the Council! We were put here that we might rule, and now we don't have the authority?"

"Hann, we have never "ruled". The Imperium does that. We're just janitors, to safeguard law and order." The Council Elder smiled sadly.

"There are enemy troops, out there, massacring our people, marching to us! They'll be here in a matter of ours, and when it's your family they're rounding up, will then we still be safeguarding law and order?" Hann was the youngest Councillor, by some way, and it showed. Officially designated for The Environment, he spoke his mind on every issue.

"What can we do?"

"Well, you're right we shouldn't pull the militia back. No, we should strengthen it. Every able body, every weapon in this city. We keep the others safe, barricade them in, and prepare for a siege."

The Council Elder rolled his eyes. "They came by dropship. Why not simply land on top of us? Besides, every able body...I assume you'll be volunteering?"

"At the very front."

"Hann, sit down."

"No! I will not sit idly by as my people are enslaved by foreign devils."

"Perhaps you didn't notice, young one. We already are." The Law Elder spoke up.

How he had ever been selected for the Council, no one knew. It was common knowledge he had been an active member of the Rebellion, that he still organized demonstrations and protests, even attacks it was rumoured. And if the Councillors knew this, the Secret Police must have written books on it. Yet he was allowed to sit and devise policy with the rest of the callow servants.

"Don't speak that way, Lulla."

"Why not? The Quangonians have left. Took every one of their soldiers off, their politicians and police and all their other oppressors. They took our miners, too, our workers. Every able body? Pah! They already have them. And where are they? Gone, to die in the skies."

He leaned forward.

"They are gone. Why are we still sitting here? They are gone."

"They are gone, because we're all about to be slaughtered," intoned the Council Elder cautiously, after a pause. Both opposing men slammed their fists into the table.

"The Quangonians have always been our enemy, always. They captured our planet - do you not remember the war? I remember, and I know do you. We fought together, side-by-side. Look at you know, Jensar. A lapdog. And your master has gone walkies. We are free."

"None of which changes the fact we are about to die."

Lulla rubbed his head, as though explaining a simple puzzle to a dunce. "Why? The Quangonians are our enemy. These invaders are not here to fight us - they're here to fight the Quangonians. They should be our allies."

"The enemy of my enemy..."

"Exactly."

There was a long silence, and a few Councillors turned to their screens, watching again, as though the piling bodies were somehow preferable to this locked awkwardness.

"Alright." The Council Elder had spoken.

* * * * *

The Council was to gather at the gates, their procession to be welcoming, but at the same time duly submissive. Hann snorted with derision - traitors, and he would not join them. He left the crowd, and stalked away. As he entered the city tunnel, he found a familiar voice at his shoulder. There was a tearing as Lulla lit a thick pipe of Chikki wood. Hann stopped and fixed him with a considered stare.

"You know, I was about your age when the Quangonians came for the second time, for good. My father was Council Elder, and, much as Jensar, wanting to placate them, to welcome them into our homes as friends."

"No, this time it was you, old man."

"True." He nodded, and exhaled the purple smoke deeply. "I have spent my life fighting the Quangonians, and perhaps I am coloured by that. I know nothing of these invaders, and their rule may be as cruel and unforgiving as the Quangonians was. In which case, I have failed. But, I think the situation is different. After all, we have an advantage. If they rule us fairly, they need not enact military conditions, need not waste troop numbers here. They can continue into True Quangonia without the need to worry about ongoing rebellions in their own lines. Perhaps they would even find recruits to their cause."

Hann sighed. "And how long will that last? If they win, then why not turn on us? If they lose, how will the Quangonians respond? At least if we held them off, we could choose our own destiny. Now it's in the hands of a few foreign emperors. I don't like that."

Lulla shrugged, patting the pipe out. "Well, then. You had best prepare the resistance."

Hann's eyes widened.

"Let me show you..." The old man led him on down the tunnel.

Julian strode on his horse up to the city walls. He made full arrangements to give a show for the people who had summoned him and came trodding on an extravagently groomed horse, with thirty honour guards in a column formation behind him, the black armor glowing with the red hue, and the masks giving an alure of demons, while the Emperor was in the golden armor of Taledon.

Stopping about five meters from the processing, he dismounted while his escort came to a silent stop and stood at attention, their armors and weapons hissing as the energy serged through them. Walking over with one hand behind his back and the other resting unconcerned on the hilt of his gladius, he looked the council over with a small smile. "You all look so splendid, anyone of you could be the leader." he said with a tone of humor as he looked them over once again.

The Council Elder stepped forward. "Friend, I come in peace. You know full well we have no way of harming you now. To degrade ourselves with continued fight would be to spoil your conquest. You have won, and we offer this pax in humble subjugation. In short, we propose a truce.

"In return for this, we are able to supply a wealth of information on the Imperium - believe me, they are no friends of ours - and, though we have little in the way of armaments, and can expend little manpower, our citadel is your home too now, and all of our citizens will be glad to quarter you and your men.

"What do you say?"

A large smile crested Julians lips as he took in the words of the council elder. He'd expected them to grovel, but nothing quite like this, a complete surrender in prettier words. "That is most acceptable." he began, and then rose his voice for all to hear, "Let it be known that on this day, the planet of...of..." he lowered his voice again, "What is the name of this planet anyways?"

"This is Tarra City, capital of Zavron."

The Council Elder led them in with his old, shaky arm extended. The rest of the Council filed out nervously around the gold-clad troops as they filtered into the city, and towards the open houses. Citizens looked on, mixing fear, curiousity, and in many cases apathy. What was one more invasion?

Away, though, in a dark house lit only by the strange glow-plants that crept the night floors of Zavron's forests, two minds were of matters less welcoming. Hann's initial survey of Lulla's armoury had not left him impressed. Antiquated rifles and pistols were in abundance; the few energy weapons were either obviously badly damaged, or simply well-rusted. The resistance had not been notably active in the past few months. The young man kicked an empty cartridge across the chipped floor.

"We're meant to fight them with this?"

"I'm not saying we're meant to fight them at all."

"This isn't Council, Lulla: there's no need to dally in semantics. This is a lot of junk."

Lulla shrugged. "It served us passably. But, if you don't want it..." He began drawing a dusty cloth back across the table. Hann quickly grabbed his arm, and they stood still for a full minute, the birds tapping at the thick saproots outside counting away the seconds.

"I didn't say that. I'm very grateful for them. All I meant was that we will need more than this alone. They look well armed."

Lulla sat down. "Son, you're new to this. So, start thinking a little, or else you'll stay that way. Let's say we had all the best weapons in the universe. Would we then beat them in open combat?"

"Of course not. That's not my point."

"Well. You have to accept that it will take a lot of time, a lot of patience, days of endless silence, weeks of tepid inaction. We can snipe, we can set traps and ambushes, we can stab in the freedom of a dark alleyway. But the moment we line up to be counted, then you have lost. I have organized a resistance for longer than you have lived; would you listen to me, or die?"

Hann rolled his eyes. "Is the melodrama integral to the operation too?"

"Absolutely," nodded Lulla, smiling.

"So what do we do? Spread the word?"

"Of what?"

"Well...do we make a first strike?"

"On who?"

"We have to do something?"

"Why? Isn't it much more efficient to wait for them to do something?"

Hann sighed, and slumped into the chair. Who knew resistance would be so dull?

"Then let it be known that the planet Zavron is Republican territory, and the people of Zavron allies of the Republic. Let us go inside and discuss some terms, shall we?" Julian finished his announcement. He then remounted his horse, and strode inside the city walls, followed by Caesarius, Sallustius and all the other generals that had accompagnied him, then the procession of guards in their glowing red, black armor.

While the honor guard stayed perfectly orderly, the officers looked about themselves at the citizenry of the planet. A crude people to be sure, but with any luck they could be molded into fine citizens of the Republic, so Julian hoped.

The Council were uneasy. They had been in negotiations for the best part of two days, breaking for meals and a brief tour, and so far they had encountered very little resistance. The terms of occupation, or whatever it was to be called, were not being portrayed as especially onerous or oppressive - nothing like the harsh diktats of the Quangonians. There was much hushed caution, many quick glances - they were waiting for a heavy, ringing "but". Hann, for his part, played along passably. His tension was obvious, but no more so than could be reasonably expected of a young, conquered man. Lulla maintained an impressive silence, chewing on an unlit pipe for much of the proceedings.

It was the second evening when the Elders struggled out onto the streets, coughing in the cold evening wind, that he finally spoke. Hann hung back, somewhat disconsolately, kicking stones around the walls of the Council House, watching Taledonians filed out. Their heavily armed, ornately armoured troops still roamed the street, but were doing their best to present a friendly facade.

"What's wrong?"

"I didn't come here to sit in acquiescence to foreign devils."

"I must have missed your words of dissent..."

"Oh shut up. No, I didn't speak out - what's the point? We're being held captive in our own city - our birthright is now 'Republic territory' or whatever they called it."

"Hann, they invaded us with space ships and energy weapons. The Quangonians took our men, our weapons - they left an unarmed world of women, cripples, and children. Don't feel ashamed at their conquest. Shame can only come once you've failed; and you haven't even tried yet."

"What does that mean?" He kicked a larger rock. A distant guard stopped, and watched the two. To their knowledge, the Taledonians had not yet instituted electronic surveillance. It had not yet been discussed in Council, at any rate.

"It means that you must be patient. If you want to fight them, I can't stop you. But at least get yourself an army. Watching bugs fly into traps is never pretty."

"An army? Pfeh. From where?"

"There are militiamen returning. There are those who didn't work the mines. There are students like yourself. There are men around - perhaps not many, but their numbers will grow, in time."

"In time, in time. Now is the time." Hann spat on the ground. "I want to act now."

"So act."

"This is getting pretty fucking tiresome, Lulla..."

"I have a proposal."

"Oh?"

"I'll call a youth meeting. Every young man and woman, to come to the Main Square, and offer thanks to the Taledonian guests."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because while they're gathered, you'll go around to the homes of those who decided not to attend. You'll ask them why they didn't attend. And maybe you'll meet some people."

Hann smiled. "Old man..."

"Don't mention it. Remember, I've been doing this longer than you." He drifted off.

Hann stood for a while, vaguely grinning, and then turned. The guard was someway off. He kicked a rock straight at him, shouted an expletive, and ran, laughing, off into the dark.

Julian sat on the makeshift throne of wood that had been assembled in the town forum, his generals standing at his sides and his guard arranged in a double line infront of him. He hadn't put on a show for the people this time, wearing only his tunic and a cloak of scarlet instead of the golden armor. It had been a pretty good start for his campaign. A crushing defeat of the Quagonian fleet, and the occupation of the first planet within the system. He had even grown to like the people of the pleasant forest world, and had negotiated a suitable peace. An annual tribute of ten thousand in gold, fresh auxiliaries to aid the legions in the war, and several rebellious or law breaking citizens that would be sold away as slaves.

The crowds of people had assembled in the forum by now, as the celebration was getting underway. It was a noble thing that the council did, throwing a thank you party for their liberators, and they would be rewarded. As the Zavron council approched the stage, Julian rose from his seat. With a half bow, he awaited the official greeting from the old men, and already began tracing plans for moving out since the planet had apparently been pacified.

The Elders processed by the assembled Taledonian dignitaries, shaking their hands and mumbling friendly words, all the while semi-stooped in posture, trying to balance subservience to their new leaders and strength to the crowd who, from their general unenthusiasm, were clearly not buying it. There was free food in the centre, and the civilians were mingling with the soldiers well enough, but there remained an obvious division. Perhaps over time it would wear away: at this stage under the Quangonian conquest it had still been bombs in the street and cowering in cellars and blood everywhere. Lulla stood up straight, smiling, his eyes twinkling, and shook Julian by the hand firmly. "Welcome," he said.

* * * * *

Hann stooped and entered the doorway. He had been knocking for five minutes, and finally an answer had come. It was dim, lit mainly by the forest, but he could make out two young men, no older than himself, and two women, one fairly old, and one even older. A young woman lay in a bad covered by a thin shawl. He stepped further in, and closed the door slowly.

"Elder Hann?"

"Yes."

The girl sat up in bed slowly, while the older woman clucked at her.

"What brings you here?" One of the men offered him a plate.

"No, thanks. I've eaten at the last five households." He smiled, then regretted it - rationing was still in effect.

"Oh?"

"I've been visiting people who haven't attended the welcoming."

There were sideways glances, and shuffling. "Well, we were going to, but..." said the other man, rising.

Hann held up his hand. "Don't worry. I'm not...enforcing anything. I just wanted to know why you didn't go."

The girl coughed, her shoulders shaking.

"Is she...ok?"

"She's fine," answered the younger woman defensively. "And we have our right not to go if we don't want to."

"Oh, I know, I..."

"Get out, spy." The man glowered at Hann. The other remained stock still, but his face bore the same resolute revulsion.

"I'm not a spy."

"Get out."

Hann stood for a moment. The other houses had accepted him, however grudgingly, with vague promises, and even one or two recruitments. He had not met such obstinancy before - and he was in politics.

"But..."

A knife slid out.

He nodded, and stepped back for the door. "I hope you recover," he said to the girl, and backed to the door. "My address, should you ever need to talk to me, is listed on the main board at the Council Room."

"Why would we talk to you?"

He shrugged. "Well, if you do." He opened the door. "The Taledonians. They're calling their deal 'generous'. More generous to give us our planet back, I think". He stepped out. The night air was warm, but he pulled up his jacket.

"Emperor Kellerman," a centurion saluted and stood still as he approached Julian on the bridge of the cruiser, "With the exception of those we're leaving to enforce Republican laws, we are prepared to depart." Julian nodded, and turned back to his conversation as he trooper departed.

"What was the name of the planet, Sallustius?" he asked again.

The old general replied in his short manner, even if he was talking to the Emperor, he had trained the boy for years, and Julian had always insisted on him speaking his mind, however he wanted. "Risa. It's an industrialised planet, one of the major ones of the Polly system. Our scouting vessels have reported that the remaining Quagonian forces in the system are re-organising around it. Their fleet shouldn't be difficult, with the way the last engagement occured, but there should be stiff resistance on the planet itself, and we'll need to land the legions."

"Primigenia has arrived and is in orbit around the planet, waiting with the rest of the fleet for us to join them." said Caesarius.

Julian nodded again, turned to the High Admiral Sulla and gave the order to depart. As the mighty behemoths lifted from the ground, it revealed the crushed trees that had served as the landing zone, and the small huts in the area were covered in flying leaves. Well, to be fair, there was only one hut remaining, as when the initial landing took place, the locals had decided to fight, and fire was set to their homes. The only one remaining was that of the young girl, Sara, and her brothers. Who knew why they had been spared, but Julian felt it important.


As the great fleet neared the second planet of in their way, Risa, the armada arranged itself into a similar formation as it had previously, and the massive shields were raised around them. The Quagonians put on quite a show with their vessels, but just like last time, they would be routed or destroyed. This theory was backed by the mighty roar of the energy cannons as a blast of energy was sent flying from the recoiling guns, and the area between the two forces lit up with turbo lasers, plasma fire, and an assortment of everything else the Republican ships possessed. Lastly, thousands of small craft emerged from the hulls and vegan their deadly raids on the Quagonian scum.

Callisthius conferred grimly with the aging admirals at his side. "Just like before...cut to rags." The fleet depletion charts in front of them flashed angry, and ever-dimming, reds. There seemed no obvious rebuff to the Taledonian energy cannons, nor any means of piercing their vast space shields for long enough to make an impact. Now thousands of their fighters swarmed like locusts around the carcasses of the Quangonian battleships, picking them to swaying, toppling wrecks.

"Admiral," barked a red-faced officer, running up to the bridge. "The Trimericus is reporting they've captured a Taledonian fighter, intact - with pilot and crew alive."

Callisthius's eyebrows shot up. "Bring them to me. Now."

With the Quagonian forces nearly broken, their vast fleets decimated once again by the might of the Republic, seven destroyers moved away from the armada and left the protection of the space shield. Leaving the battle, they headed towards the planet.

"Sir," a young officer saluted Julian as he gave his report, "The deployment is underway, our vessels are heading towards the surface now. General Marcus thought it best to land in the large open plain outside the Risan capitol, however there is a very dense amount of Quagonian and Risan troops garrisoned in the area."

Julian smiled, "Excellent. Our good Taledonian, Mandalorian and Covenant troops fair best in the open. We'll humiliate them, and the Quagonians should go running from this system, and it will be ours." The officer saluted and left back to work.

Callisthius sat coolly by as officers ran around him like ants in boiling water. The planetary defences were totally inadequate, and a mass scramble to deploy troops was underway. In numbers, they would surely outweigh the Taledonians, but they were clumped haphazardly about, anywhere the dropships could tumble. The Taledonians would be able to pick and choose where to attack. But Callisthius simply sat, smiling. He was watching a small panel, of a man groaning about as electricity was applied to him in short bursts.

The captured Taledonian was not being talkative, but he would be. "Up the dosage," he whispered to his intelligence lieutenant, who relayed the order with an unpleasantly genuine smile.

"As for the planet...throw everything we have at them. This is not Zavron. We need this place, and if they take it...the Taledonians would effectively control the system. Only a matter of time. Try to gather men to the cities - draw them in, fight them in closed surroundings. Out in the open - we will crumple."

"Sir, we can't really pick and choose..."

"Just try, dammit!"

The Quagonians had some sense in them. Instead of sending their soldiers out to die in the open, they held them back and fortified the streets of the city. The seven warships hovered slowly above the buildings of the city, while a swarm of fighters and bombers went around like locusts patrolling the skies, taking out anything where they saw weaponsfire or armed personel. The small fleet formed up above the city center, and the lead vessel, a Typhoon class destroyer, engaged its planetary cannon. A section of the bottom hull opened to reveal a magnificent cannon, which glimmered with blue as a deadly blast of energy was sent hurtling to the ground, creating a sizeable area for mass deployement.

From the hangers of the vessels, transports pilled out, laden with troops ready to enter the fray of battle. They came in fast, stopping inches from the ground and unloading their cargo, then heading back to their hangers to take on more. The initial blast of the cannon had caused a quite peaceful area for the moment, who knew how long it would last, but it was enough for a full two hundred shocktroopers, three hundred covenant, and around a hundred mandalorians to land and take up positions behind rubble. Weapons ready, they awaited their comrades, or hostilities.

The Taledonians had landed, and were grouping in the wake of their destructive arrival. They showed no obvious intent to mask their tracks, or positions. Why should they? They had waged domination after domination so far, and as they assembled in speedy, deadly efficiency now, the portents stood no differently. Amidst the chaos of one of several makeshift field command centres, Captain Obaran, organizing the westernmost defence forces, stood by, his cool disposition at odds with the boiling maelstrom of doubt within. He knew all of this, and he knew that this stand would be the last of the system. If he failed, he was dead: it was largely irrelevant who did the killing in the end. They waited on his orders.

"Ok. Have small groups fan out. Try to find camouflage and shelter, and try not to risk capture. Better that lie undiscovered and unengaged, than are burned off like fat. Find every sharp-shooter in this city, and get them up there. Try to pick off the shock troops: they'll be hardest to turn back in direct engagement. And begin laying mines, wires, traps, whatever, here across the streets. Record their locations, encrypt it, send it here. We don't want our own men falling foul of them. Rig everything you can find. If they lay a finger on it, I want them to lose that finger."

"Sir, the ships?"

"There's little we can do. They have air superiority. Let's try sending decoy vessels out along routes of strategic unimportance, and cover them with the planetary defence weapons. Try to get their craft to follow, and take them out down there."

"And the destroyer?"

He paused. "Contact Admiral Callisthius. Tell him we need to know whatever that Taledonian does, and quickly."

An entire legion landed, eleven thousand men, and more still awaiting departure within the seven destroyers that hung menacingly over the city, the fighters still buzzing around them like locusts. It was time to bring in the bigger stuff, the armored units, and above all, the mechs.

Three detachements of battle tanks, countless covenant vehicles and mandalorian heavy artillery walkers were brought down, and positioned at strategic points facing streets and openings. Then, four massive transports brought down equally massive contraptions, which they laid on the ground and then departed. With a great roar the machines slowly rose, and revealed the terrifying mechs of the Taledonian forces. Two "Raptores", machines standing as high as a three story building, with glowing red eyes and talons of sharp metal that could ignite into energy blades; these beasts let out great roars as they began to advance towards the edges of the landing zone. The other two, of same high as the Raptores, but in the shape men, carrying enourmous weapons, one in each hand; these were the "Commandos".

The centurions, made easily visible by the plumes on their helmets, began organising their cohorts, and made ready to move out. Groups of eighty men each would scower the city and remove hostiles, while the armored units followed behind for support, and the horrific mechs went about destroying what they pleased. At an order, they all moved out, leaving but a hundred men at the LZ, while the rest went to finish the invasion.

Sergeant Tomarak lay in the rubble, panting heavily. Matted blood coated his leg - he wasn't sure if it was a shot, or shrapnel, but if it weren't for the heavy-duty gear whose heavy insulation he cursed every warm night, he'd have been walking on his knees. Two men - the last two men - lay dead around him. One groaned, a long, restless, agonising rattle. Nearly dead, then.

He peered out again. The Taledonians were scattered about, bits of blasted helmet, blasted bone, blasted flesh pasted to the crumbling walls. They were all dead. He patted his cold gun - so far grenades had done the trick - and crawled forward. The city - twenty minutes ago a burning blaze of havoc like a classical symphony and a punk thrash and a gospel choir all blasting out in some dance mix - was fairly silent. The odd scream, crash, roar. They'd taken the city, or been squarely repulsed. He knew not which. The dead radio did not bear well.

He staggered upright, leaning against the wall for support. A Taledonian twitched, and he fired for the first time, sending limbs spinning. The kick sent him stumbling back, landing heavily on his backside.

And then it began, sharp as a knife's edge, a giant splinter in the sky, a noise that snapped his spine straight. He tried to scuffle to his ankles, but the wall of sound was pressing him back, caught like a bird advancing into the strongest winds that blew in Risa's far desert plains. He tried again, reaching forward for the wall - and it slumped away.

The cacophony abated, as a new one arose - the entire building slumping away, neatly, in an explosion with no sparks, no fire, nothing. Just a dead, empty slump, and the biggest sound you every heard, like someone lit a fuse in his eardrums, like the gongs at the Empress's parades were locked in his skull, like...

"Oh what the fuck is that?" he said, outloud, to no one, deaf to his own words, as the red-eyed contraption towered above him. "What the fuck is that?"

* * * * *

Hann dragged himself from his bed, sleepily, hauling the thin sheets with him as he crossed the cold stone to the door. They slumped in a dull grey pile. He peered round the viewing crack.

"Who?"

"Elder Hann?"

"Yes. Who is it?"

"It's Murab."

"...who?"

"Murab, Gilesh's brother."

It was the lad from the house, the house with the sick girl, that had sent him spinning away weeks ago. Hann cautiously opened the door, sliding his foot in to - block it? It'd crush him. Nevermind.

"What do you want, Murab? It is night."

"I want my planet back."

Murab was at once cold, and so beautifully, wondrously aflame with smothered indignation, righteous anger, the bright, broad fires of revenge. Hann swung the door open as his mouth creased upwards with his heart.

"Welcome in."

A distant scream, the far off sound of a blaster opening up again and again, the muffled blast of an explosion; the only sounds left in the city besides that of the groups of troopers walking about, ensuring that their conquest was being secured. The Quangonians but up quite a fight, resisting the legions for three hours before cracking, now only scattered groups of them were reported around the city. The last organised outpost they held came tumbling down when a raptor opened its shoulder ports, and with a deafening roar loosed a swarm of missiles that hit the building along with the artillery fire that was already pounding it. In the wanning part of the fighting, the Zarithian paratroopers had been called in as support, and did a wonder on the defenders. Now, it was mostly quiet, and the storm was over, all that remained was to clean up.

They had set traps all over the city, and to their credit eliminated over a thousand troops, a hundred or so armored units and even managed to topple a Commando. When the last of the Quangonian fleet had been destroyed or routed, Julian had descended in a shuttle and demanded a report from the acting commander. The city had been taken, with minimal casualties considering, lots of plunder and many hostages.

"Tell those destroyers of ours to broadcast a message over the city. The leaders, those who have survived that is, are to assemble in the square that we created in the middle of their city to negotiate the terms of surrender." Julian commanded.

********

"Centurion," Titus said uninterestedly as he looked away from the pretty Zavronian girls that filled his elegant bath, "Call the councillors, tell them I demand an audience with them tonight around nine-sish. They are to meet me in my office."

The officer, dressed solely in a military tunic for his "off-duty" hours, saluted and went off to deliver the message. Titus had constructed a rather nice house for himself, in the traditional Taledonian style, and made it his center for governing. He liked the sound of that, Governor Titus. The Emperor had left him with three thousand men to ensure that the loyalty of the planet remained, and that the small tribute was paid, and that the auxiliaries that had been recruited were sent to reinforce the legions. A cozy little job he had inherited, and he intended to keep it. Dropping his robe to the floor, he entered the pool and signalled for the girls to begin washing him.

The Elders scuffled about, nervously. Business as usual, they'd been told. Business as usual. But it wasn't usual to be dragged out here, like this, for an "audience". What sort of business it was, too, they didn't know, and didn't like.

"What have you done, Lulla?" they whispered.

The old man smiled warmly, and puffed strongly on his pipe. "Me? Nothing. I always wanted the Quangonians gone - why would I do anything to upset their conquerors?"

"You've been putting ideas in his head. Don't think we haven't seen the meetings, heard the rumours, seen it all. Don't think they haven't, either."

Hann stepped forward, sucking away a dirty cigarette end. "He's put no ideas in my head, and I'm fine, thank you." He looked up, his eyes shorn of their youth. "Shall we go in?"

"Ah, gentlemen, I'm glad you could come to my humble home this evening," Titus said fakely. "I am pleased at the progress your people are making, you show great promise. I trust the auxiliary force is prepared to depart in the morning?" not even waiting for a reply he continued, "Good, excellent. Would you care for a drink? I imported some of the finest Taledonian wine." Once again not waiting for an answer, he signalled another Zavronian girl to fetch the wine, which he brought back on a silver platter with a bowl of grapes. Handing a cup to each of the guests, and placing the platter on the small table infront of the chair that Titus sat down in, she departed.

Taking a liberal sip, the governor continued, "It has been brought to my attention that there are a few citizens who are still critical of our good deeds, and see us more as conquerors, instead of liberators." Throwing a quick glance over to Hann to check his reaction, he waited for a few seconds. "This won't do, gentlemen. Therefore to ensure that nothing unfortunate should have to happen on your quiet little forest planet, I suggest that you hold a meeting, and do your best to impart the loyalty that you show to the Empire onto those disenters. I trust with your influence you can sway your own people. I expect to see some change within the week, that will be all gentlemen." Standing up he motioned for the door. As they began to leave, he spoke aside to an aid that casually appeared.

"Have them watched, report anything suspicious."

Hann had attempted to remain cool, emphatic, defiant. Rather, he had ended the meeting crumpled, sweating profusely, ticking wildly. Hardly the covert revolutionary. His only saving grace was that every other Elder was in a similar state. Of course, the motivations were an ocean apart - he was concerned at being uncovered, they were concerned at the peace being disturbed, at the glorious, soft-quilted dream of occupation thus far poising to come crashing down.

They attempted to calm themselves through the tittering discussions of the meeting - rousing public speeches, comparisons with the Quangonians, and so on. But Hann's mind was on something different: if they did hold a meeting, the Taledonians would probably scour the city for absentees. A perfect opportunity to pick off a lone pair of soldiers.

(OOC: *cough* What about Riza? *cough*)