Black Dawn

[Melkor Unchained]

Scenes are listed by viewpoint character and iteration. Nadia I is kind of confusing because that's both her first scene and she also happens to be the first of her name, hence Nadia I. That's not a typo/mistake, it's just weird syntax in this case. OOC thread here.

Nadia I

Nadia Roark I is the Angsiyii of Rhûn and Xingu; Queen of Dunland and consort to Konrad IV.

Fort Lannistar, 2322 local time

Nadia's mind was all over the place. At first she had thought someone had simply broken into Arda's own system on behalf of the attackers, but when it became clear that Dominion audiences saw it as the same time they had, the scope and execution of the attack pointed more and more to foreign complicity or worse. She knew she'd have to leave for Daturias soon enough, but had to make a move or two before she did.

As troubled as she was, Nadia only allows herself a moment to worry. She heaves a sigh, sets her hair and grabs her datapad off the desk. Briskly she exits the room, where longtime assistant Eli Stavinger awaits in the oddly quiet hallway. In the chaos of everything, Stavinger was a welcome sight to the taxed Angsiyii; Stavinger men had carried Roark banners into battle against Morgoth when he first arrived--Nadia knew she could trust him and that was always a comfort.

"How long, now, my Queen?" Stavinger asks.

The golden haired woman checks a timer she had set when the first shots rang out. "Seventy-five minutes," she announces as they start walking down the hall.

"Comms says they are still experiencing some trouble, but some vital functions have returned. James will call the Marshals soon I am sure. Enough have checked in that we know he likely has a quorum in the capital. Have you spoken to the King¹ again?"

"Not yet, I should leave now, I only had time to call the Imperatrice back, since as it happens it's worse than we thought--astonishing as it sounds," Nadia answers. "Apparently whatever hit our system hit theirs too. I didn't want to say much about it, but I had to once it was clear the broadcast was as widespread there as it was here."

Eli raises an eyebrow but stays silent as he follows. "I'll get a message off to Konrad once we're in the air, if I'm able," the woman continues. "In the meantime I need you to contact the foreign ministry and inform them of this development: I need them to start drafting some boilerplate replies for anyone who might contact us asking about this footage." She pulls a stylus from her inside jacket pocket and starts jotting something down on her data pad--the rough wording for how she wanted the statement to read. "Don't say anything too specific, obviously; only that we're aware of the incident too and have experienced a similar compromise. Try to weasel details out of them without giving up any of ours."

"I'll go back to the comm office so we can leave a hard copy of this here," Eli suggests as Nadia's writing begins to fill in on his screen. "I'll meet you in the hangar after I drop these off. Any other orders?"

"Empower the court to bolster the Daturias guard and tell them to commission a panel to manage the extent and output of our data sharing. I have a few names, I'll write you them soon. Leave those at the comms office too."

"Of course, my Queen," Eli responds simply.

"Thank you, Eli," offers Nadia as she turns and makes her way towards Naiya's quarters, eager to get out and back to the capital. "I'll see you soon."

---

Naiya I

Principessa Naiya Stefania D'Aquistois the daughter and heir of Nathicana D'Aquisto, first Imperatrice and Dread Lady of the Dominion.

With a quick backwards glance to Kane, Naiya follows the Ardan leader into the hallway, her focus on the woman's back as they walk with purpose towards the shuttle. The timing of all this couldn't be worse. How this would affect her being allowed to view the stone, she couldn't guess, but any threat to stability or chaos introduced as this had been, was sure to put Konrad and Nadia even further off from allowing anyone else access. What her own mother was intending on doing on account, she felt secure enough for now ... so long as her own safety remained a non-issue. And so long as access, as Nadia suggested, was not denied.

What she cannot shake in all her musings is that nagging sense of wrongness that had persisted for some time now. Today's events had only accentuated it, given it a result she could point to as evidence of inherent danger. This was the tip of the iceberg, she was sure. But as to the source, she had no solid proof, other than a well-organized cell of dissension. Given the complexity of Ardan politics, the longstanding history between the various houses, her own current involvement and the rumors and opinions swirling around that, there were any number of reasonable explanations.

Something about it still doesn't sit right with her, in spite of the logic behind the reasoning. Two things she feels she knows - she needs to see her father, who might have more insight, and if nothing else, would be a source of support. And she needs to use the Master Stone. The drive was, at this point, nearly a constant itch at the back of her mind that simply would not go away. It started with a knowledge that it needed to be done, somehow. It had then grown into a need.

The Angsiyii - Nadia, she reminds herself - does not seem to be amenable to conversation in her determined walk towards the hangar. Once there, Naiya waits patiently as Nadia relays her orders to the aircrew, and instructs her various aides to stay behind. Once on board, she finally lets herself ask:

"Nadia," she begins quietly. "Edward - he wasn't injured, was he? And the others. Could I ask what the damages were today? Did they apprehend the shooters?"

"He's fine, sweetie," Nadia affirms softly with a tired smile. "Some scrapes, a broken finger, and a bloody lip but he's probably back to normal by now. The shooters..." she trails off for a moment and heaves a sigh. "We're still getting to the bottom of it, naturally. It's looking like the assault was carried out by fifty or sixty men, so you probably didn't see all of the fighting. As far as I know at least a dozen Xinguese were killed in the attack and there are reports that a similar number shot themselves rather than face capture once the MI moved in.

"As for us, they killed five in the shooting itself and another three during the ensuing gun battle. We sent about a dozen to the hospital, but only a few with serious injuries."

"Good, good," Naiya replies, though her brow is creased with concern. Less than she'd hoped, yet still too many, really. She looks Nadia over more closely, hoping for once to get a decent read on the woman. "And you - you're okay?"

"I'll be fine," Nadia insists as she begins to administer her various connections. Holographic menus come to life in front of her and she begins to navigate them. "A little rattled, but I've seen worse. I'm just glad you got out alright, we didn't know where you were for a few minutes."

"Your Vzj'Nakai know their business," Naiya replies simply, choosing to leave it at that for now, though she does find herself reflecting back on some of those hectic moments when it had seemed things were going to end very badly. And the rather amazing performance of the man who had, in the end, gotten her out. Her eyes slid briefly in Kane's direction, and she offers him a brief nod of thanks before turning her attention back on Nadia.

"Does my father know?" she asks quietly, deciding to approach carefully along the most reasonable lines. "I'd like to see him if I can, as soon as possible. If you'll be sending me home, I at least want to see him before I'm hurried off."

The Ardan monarch hesitates. She had been typing something, but stops when Naiya mentions her father. "You know, I don't know whether he's been formally notified or not," she starts. "I'm reasonably familiar with his living habits and he doesn't watch much TV." If he was at his estate at the time of the attack it's possible the broadcast didn't reach him, but I think by now he would probably have heard something. He has many friends, particularly among the gentry and minor nobility.

Gradually Nadia begins to weigh the merits of keeping Naiya in Arda for now, both for the Principessa's purposes and her own, and her gaze swings to the younger woman. "How much time do you want with him?"

"As much as you can grant me, really. Unlike my mother, I don't believe I'm in as much danger as she seems to think - not that whoever was behind the attack has somewhat tipped their hand at least. Its easier to be on guard when you know someone has a gun at your back, rather than just suspecting it could be there," Naiya begins slowly, still trying--and failing--to get a proper read on the other woman. "I don't know if you got my message before all of this, but I can't just dismiss it as a coincidence myself. It could just be part of my discomfort at other matters, I suppose. But something is wrong, here Nadia. And I think he might be able to help with some insight."

It takes a few moments for Nadia to formulate a reply; long enough for Kane to look over towards the Principessa with a raised eyebrow. Naiya's eyes narrow slightly as the moments pass, her suspicions mounting. She shrugs slightly at Kane, her mind racing as she tries to anticipate the woman's response.

Nadia doesn't look up at first, but she speaks loudly and evenly. "I can't justify keeping you here on Alkanphel's behalf." She looks up and shrugs. "He's not a member of our government, or our own line of succession. He is popular, but I can't keep a foreign heir in my country against the wishes of her mother because a man is popular. If it's Nathi's royal prerogative that demands your exit from Arda, it can only be mine that keeps you here.

She minimizes the window in which she had been previously working and punches up another one. A few more gestures and keystrokes take her where she wants to be. "I'm promoting you to Major and attaching you to the royal household as an assistant chamberlain," she announces, typing furiously. "I need a game changer, and a big one. As far as your mother is concerned, right now I'm reading rumors that you're pregnant with my grandchild, rumors that I'm going to need you to run with for a few days if I have a shot at making this work.

Naiya blinks, her response immediate. "Wait, what? No, no, no, no, no, no. No, Nadia - that is simply not going to work. Have you any idea of the potential consequences? I'm likely entangled enough as is for anyone's comfort. But I have my own nation to run here in the near future, and a bastard child is simply not in the cards, rumored or otherwise. If I'm going to stay here for any reason, it will be mine, and I will deal with my mother and her having to wait. I've my own rights, I'm of age, and I can make her understand some of what is at stake for me here."

Her words are rapid and punctuated with her inherited fire, and exaggerated gestures. At one point she rises from her seat and begins a short pace before cutting herself short, and turning back to face Nadia, her own expression determined, and no less defiant.

"Enough with the games, Nadia. I want to see my father. And I would like you to grant the opportunity that was promised those months before. I believe I've earned it, and I cannot shake the feeling that the longer we wait, and dance around the matter of whether or not I'm worthy enough to view the Master Stone, the worse whatever is brewing could potentially be. I can't explain it. I simply know I've been growing constantly less at ease as time has passed, and the need to follow through has only gotten worse. If you cannot do this, you may as well send me home now, and damn the consequences."

"Naiya, think," the blonde woman exhorts. She squares herself to Naiya and looks her firmly in the eye. "Your goals and desires in Arda are not your mother's. A visit with your father and a session with the master stone are not on her agenda, and we'll need a few days to make it work. I understand where you're coming from but you have to remember that we're still doing you an incredible--potentially life-defining--favor here.

"I do not believe you can manage your mother's reaction by yourself--whether anyone involved likes it or not my husband and I will have to answer to her for this at some point. I can't reasonably go against both my word and your mother's explicit wishes for no visible reason other than to service your preferences or desires."

"You don't know my mother like I do," Naiya replies, more quickly at first, then she takes a breath and starts again. "That we disagree on several points is established. She and I have had many conversations over the past months, even before we arrived. But I know she does understand there are things I need to know, and need to do, that like it or not she will never be able to comprehend. Things I think she's tried very hard to sweep aside for as long as she could, and dealt with as best she can as I grew up. She doesn't like it. She doesn't really understand it. But I do know she loves and supports me, and for the most part, when it comes to the serious things, trusts my judgment. I wouldn't be here now if she didn't."

"Naiya, I'm not backing down on this, I need a better reason," Nadia retorts, shaking her head. "If you'd rather we come up with something else I'm all ears, but don't sit here and talk to me about doing things on your terms and for your reasons while basically asking me to ignore mine. I made a promise to your mother, and I will need a damn good reason to break it."

"Well you'll just have to do it without destroying my reputation and plans for a smooth succession to the Dominion throne," Naiya replies archly, her chin tilting up in a very good approximation to her mother's stubborn expression. She sits back down in her seat, crossing her arms and legs and leaning back into the headrest. "Of course the easiest solution would be to let me speak with her once we land and get it sorted out."

Nadia draws in a deep breath and returns her attention to the holo menus in order to bleed off her growing frustration. After a few moments, Kane exits the compartment as if he had taken a cue. The Ardan monarch lets silence linger on a little longer before she finally replies:

"Naiya, frankly I don't see how my plan accomplishes either of those things. I'm not suggesting you actually get pregnant; so less an actual child I don't see how exactly you're worried about Dominion succession as it relates to this plan."

"Second, as far as your 'reputation' is concerned, the longer you stay together--with Edward or anyone else--the odds that someone will start a pregnancy rumor approaches one. I'm simply saying that if such a rumor 'happened' to surface right now, it would give us an excellent and convenient reason to keep you in the country.

"If your mother comes to investigate, or when our subterfuge has run its useful term, you need only say it must have been the stress of the shooting or the Ardan military routine," explains the Angsiyii in the tone and meter one would use to describe basic facts. "If you have to, you can tell your mother that you thought you missed a bleeding but it just came late, or whatever. I'm not asking you to author a press release or any explicit statement saying you're pregnant with Edward's child."

Naiya turns slightly to give Nadia a decidedly flat look. "Two problems with that. One, she and I have always been very up front about such things, and have already discussed in-depth the potential consequences, proper methods of contraception, and the importance of maintaining a responsible attitude each and every single time one chooses to take any sort of risk by engaging in sexual relations. And two, I'm not a complete idiot."

"I don't mean that to explain the pregnancy itself, Naiya, just the symptoms. We hold you for 'medical reasons' for a few days, find nothing, and write the whole thing off as stress related to the shooting or even the prior 'rigors of duty.'

"As to contraception and consequences that's all well and good but your mother of all people knows that accidents happen. She will be angry when she first hears about it, but the whole incident won't last long enough for that to mean anything."

"Nadia, what you don't understand is that any 'incident' involving me, especially one where my mother thinks I've gone and gotten myself knocked up, is only going to encourage her to show up and get in the middle of things. It's far better if she thinks everything is fine, and I'm ok, and there's nothing to worry about. Dear god, if we have to have some sort of medical explanation, why not ... I don't know, whiplash or something that simply means I shouldn't travel for a while. Early pregnancy is no excuse for that, and given I've just spoken to her assuring her that nothing is wrong past some bumps and bruises, it would have to be something she'd buy, and that at least makes some sort of post-traumatic sense," Naiya argues, gesturing as she speaks, even rolling her eyes at one point. Gods be damned, but it was as difficult as speaking with her mother, this - without the usual hysterics at least.

The Angsiyii finally allows herself to become visibly frustrated, pushing her eyebrows together. "We'll get back to this when we reach the capital," she declares. "In the meantime I should get back to my other duties."

Leaving Nadia to her tasks, the young Dominion heir gets up and walks quietly out into the corridor, looking for a quiet spot she could re-check the admittedly minor damage from her earlier adventure. Now that all the excitement had died down, she was feeling tired and sore, and the conversation had given her a lot to think about. No less, the one she'd had earlier with Kane that still had her mentally twitching.

She would reflect on some of the things Nadia said that she casually brushed aside in her indignance at the idea of the suggestion of being pregnant. Her own longstanding worries, given her childhood and personal experience with illegitimacy had admittedly forged a rather solid picture in her head over the years of how things ought to be, and what she would and wouldn’t accept. Unfortunately in this situation, in retrospect, she allowed her private misgivings to blind her to other points and cues that should have been paid more attention at the time.


But for now, she was simply bristling at the idea, and stubbornly had dug in her heels on the matter while she tried to calculate another excuse for her mother that would satisfy Nadia’s whims, aside from the simple truth. All influence and lack of official position aside, she still desperately hoped her father could assist once they landed. Not to mention offer her some peace of mind.

---

Blarik I

Blarik Odina is a Knight-Marshal from old Rhûn with marital ties to Easterling nobility. An engineering officer by trade, he one of their five (of twenty-five total) representatives in Arda's military court.

Blarik Odina's brisk footfalls echo through the austere Ardan corridors as he makes his way towards the Marshals' meeting. He turns a corner with a nod to a sentry and makes his way up a small set of stairs and out through a breezeway.

Cutting across the courtyard, he accepts a subordinate's salute without breaking stride and the two men travel together for a step or two while they exchange flash drives. "Thanks John," are Blarik's only words as the aide nods and diverts. A dozen paces and another short flight of wide stairs later, and Blarik is in the main foyer to the Marshals' meeting hall.

A card swipe and keypunch entry later and he's in the room. "Welcome to the party, Brother Marshal Odina," declares Knight-Marshal James Talicid dryly.

"Hello, James," Odina answers smoothly. "Roland, Stepan," he continues, nodding to the other two Knight-Marshals at the table as he approaches. "Will Ohan be coming?"

"He's on his way. Sit."

Blarik sits and lets his cheeks puff out through a sigh. "Hit me."

"Minutes ago, the Angsiyii dispatched a very interesting document to the foreign office," he remarks. "It contains a list of protocols for how Kit and his ministry are to answer or discuss queries related to the shooting."

Blarik shrugs. "Okay?" The Easterling Marshal was the Roark empress' creature, and James was her most powerful political rival. He knew there had to be something else to this.

"It seems that the live broadcast of the event was not localized to Arda, as she claims to have heard from the Imperatrice herself. It seems very possible that whatever compromised us has compromised them and possibly everyone else."

"Gods..." Blarik starts. The implications are apparent to him right away. "She didn't also happen to order the Ecthelion Directive did she?" he asks.²

"Not yet, but she might be on her way here to do just that," explains the Talicid Knight-Marshal. "Konrad is still in Ali'Staan, and he's given us the go ahead to manage the reaction here and advise on Xingu. How are the city's defenses?"

"Everything seems nominal as per our latest," Blarik answers. Targeting for some GTA stations went offline for a few minutes, but we're back in business. Comms is still a problem though."

"Comms are still coming back up, some systems seem to be recovering faster than others," offers the other engineer, Knight-Marshal Stepan Dravec. "The Angsiyii probably lucked out being able to get that message off to the foreign office."

"Probably," answers James.

The door opens again and in walks Ohan Iriarte, his face grim. "I don't like the looks of this," mutters Roland Petrik, the fleet's representative.

"What is it?" asks James. "You look troubled, brother."

"Xingu," answers Iriarte simply. "Things are getting hot in a hurry."

Blarik frowned. It was going to be a long night.

---

¹ - Here Eli is slipping out of using the formal Angsiyan/Angsiyii titles and is referring to Konrad as "the King" and Nadia as "the Queen." The titles Angsiyan and Angsiyii were taken from the Xinguese kings by the Easterlings and worn as a vanity for many years. It was adopted in turn by the Dunnish kings (the Kaisserin) who wore it again to signify their conquest/unification of the East. Eli is dropping the Xinguese title in this conversation as a hint that he considers there to be forces in play conspiring to challenge royal prerogative there.

² - The Ecthelion Directive is Arda's military-wide contingency plan for an attack by Morgoth.

[Midlonia]

MBC News, Moments after the transmission

“Welcome to the MBC News 24 Channel. Our breaking story is this footage broadcast to the MBC and indeed across the Television networks across the Greater Kingdom.” The announcer, a woman was looking slightly bewildered as a sheaf of papers were handed to her from the side and she shuffled them into her pile as the 47 seconds of footage were played again, audio dimmed so the announcer could continue.

“The footage apparently of some sort of terrorist attack in Arda against what appear to be high ranking officials has just been broadcast in what appears to have been the first ever global broadcast. Multiple channels were affected and some are currently unable to broadcast due to technical faults.” The Announcer flickered the paper a little. “Kilwarby Street is currently unable to comment, but a COBR meeting has been called to immediate session and the new Chief of Defence Staff, Field Marshal Williams has just... yes here’s the live feed now.”

The Camera cut away to a sleek limousine drawing up to the circular drive in front of 12 Kilwarby Street and a figure in military uniform ducking slightly as he got out the door and headed inside.

12 Kilwarby Street

Checking the satchel in his hand was still securely strapped to his wrist Field Marshal Williams nodded to the aide who opened the door for him as he stepped inside and removed his cap. Williams was a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and piercing blue eyes, his hawkish nose was tinged just slightly with a drop of moisture on the end, the result of the very back end of a cold he had had.

“Field Marshall.” The aide said as she shut the door, she was young, blatantly a career politico from the way she sported her little Midlonian flag badge.

“Madam.” He replied simply as he followed the aide along the corridor past paintings of various Prime Minister’s past, the previous PM’s portrait had just been installed and showed the man standing almost modestly on the balcony on the far side of the house next to the River Dove. A dove was prominently in one hand, and a globe in the other. It was a painting no doubt filled with subtle imagery and meaning as many of the paintings along the corridor meant.

The aide tapped a button on the wall and the elevator chimed softly as it arrived. The doors slid open and they both step inside as she taps the button marked “COBR”. The lift shuddered a little as it began to lower itself down to the level where the COBR was. Set about two dozen feet blow ground and behind around 6 foot of steel and concrete the COBR hadn’t been used in decades, certainly not since the last major colonial crisis.

The elevator stopped, the doors chimed again and slid open and suddenly the quiet world of the Prime Minister’s residence above exploded into noise.

Telephones rang and were answered, figures, aides and even ministers raced around clutching papers, IT experts who, to the Field Marshall looked like rejects from a popular comedy show were pushing horn rimmed spectacles back on their noses as they consulted pads in their hands that were no thicker than a slim pane of glass and translucent.

The aide lead the Field Marshall down this chaos as the offices either side of the corridor continued to buzz with activity. The transmission had spooked a number of ministries and other agencies and now they were all agitated and apparently all using the small offices off of the COBR to ensure as much security as possible.

Even if, apparently, that was no longer garunteed.

The door to the COBR was a standard looking red velvet affair, plush in its own way but also hiding well the fact that it was soundproofed and even vibrated slightly to interrupt any microphones that may have somehow been trained on it to listen in.

“...the fuck this happened.” Was the first voice that barked out as the door opened and he stepped in as the aide tugged it close behind him. The fragmented sentence came from a portly man with chubby fingers which flailed around in a mild panic. His face was ruddy from the barking he had obviously been doing just scant moments before. And his beard was flecked a tiny bit with spittle. He was a short man but his eyes were very bright, even though some joked, the mind behind it was dull.

“That part is really quite simple Paul, and if you sat down instead of barking like at one of your rallies for relection at your seat I might get a chance to tell you.” A man sat near to the head of the table said with something that Williams could only describe as weary patience. The man who had replied was grey haired, green eyed and wearing a neat albeit older style grey suit. His pointed beard gave him an almost piratical look and the way he stroked it more refined air like that of a psychiatrist quietly observing the political zoo around the table.

“Ah, Williams. Good, you’re here.” Yet another figure said just to the left of the grey suited man.

Prime Minister William “Billy” Bagnall was a man in his mid fourties, round in the stomach and with a mop of blonde hair that never seemed to settle no matter what he or any other person did with it he had sometimes played the buffon on camera during his earlier days. However, his time as education minister and later leader of the Crowns Party had proven to even his most harshest of critics that behind the joviality there was a ruthless political mind with a severely sharp intellect to back it up.

He had been sat fidgeting slightly in his chair at the very top of the table and he waved to the Field Marshall to sit in his assigned chair, the one in between the Minister of Defence and the Minister of Foreign and Economic Affairs.

“Could we bring this back to order. Yes, yes Paul we’ll get to your concerns in a minute.” Bagnall said with an almost disdainful flick of his hand to the Minister without Portfolio when the man had opened his mouth to speak again.

“Of course, Prime Minister.” Williams said as he unclipped his bag and took out a small sheaf of papers. “I’m relying on hard copies for obvious reasons.” He shuffled them. “As I am sure Frederick of MIRA has told you by now.” He nodded to the grey suited man. “The transmission hit every single satellite, broadcast tower and dish across Midlonia. So far as we can tell it’s also world-wide. The attack also hit all visual broadcasts by the Military and...” He paused for a beat as if unsure to carry on.

“Has actually caused one of our Overseer computers to crash in addition to this all Faster Than Light communications are down and our satellite imagery software is currently displaying an error the boffins can’t understand. It also means that the E-drives are now unable to work as they cannot use FTL comms to pinpoint safe locations to jump to.”

The room was suddenly silent, so much so that even the whirring and clicking of the air conditioning appeared to have quelled to silence. Fredrick frowned slightly but nothing more, the Minister for Foreign and Economic Affairs looked to Williams sharply and suddenly from his notes. George Hillcrest had been Foreign Minister for many years now and little apparently shocked him, but this time his face was a picture of absolute surprise. And perhaps a hint of terror.

“Is that even possible?” Paul Pickering said quietly, his boisterous attitude suddenly deflated in an instant. His voice a hoarse whisper.

The Overseer’s were a series of complex biological and quantum computers that had been installed to act as guardians over the numerous myriad of the armed forces, government departments and smaller agencies.

“We liked to think it couldn’t but here we are.” Frederick chimed in with a nonchalant shrug.

Williams nodded as he flicked a page and began to hand out several copies of other notes. “The affected computer is the one we tend to need the most, it relates to that of the joint armed forces communications network. All inter branch communications are currently down, instead what we have is the footage playing on a loop to every member of the armed forces who keys into the joint network.”

“And the other branches overseer computers?”

“Isolated and still functioning. I’ve been assured we can bring another unit online within a month or so, until then co-operation between the branches has to be done locally. Within orbit for any space boats, and using short-wave comms when not. The problem is we’ve lost all chance of satellite reconnaissance and observation as well as long term communication with any colonies or ships out in the deep black. God knows how some of them will make port on regular FTL drives.” Williams replied.

“So.” Bagnall said drawing things to order again when they were threatening to spill out into more panicked shouting. “All we know is this so far then. It’s some sort of virus. It’s ridiculously powerful. And the signal appears to have originated from?” Bagnall looked to Frederick Parkes, the head of the Midlonian Intelligence and Research Agency.

“Xingu. Near as we can pinpoint it for now, there’s a line in the code suggesting that’s the broadcast point.” Fredrick said. “One hell of a virus to do that, blasted clean through every firewall both domestic and military to put that little play up on every screen from Swadlincote to Mabatu. While knocking out some of our most powerful assets for reconnaissance.” He shrugged.

“As to who the hell made the damn thing? Wouldn’t have a clue. Arda’s still relatively new as societies go these days. Been isolated because of old metal arse for eons. Literal eons. Nearly our whole history gets swallowed up in theirs and we were under glorious isolation when the last shit kick went down and faffing around with the Oyada crisis the time before that.”

“We have been able to weedle some things out of them for the last few years though, helped by theirs and our entry into the World Cup.” Hillcrest said as he flicked another page over and looked down a list before tapping a name. “But I dont know how they’re going to treat this event. We should really try to contact the Ardan ambassador here and try to get in contact with our own people in Daturius. Find out what the hell is going on, and why it effected us too. Our interactions with the Ardans isn’t that strong or as close as say, The Dominion’s has been over the last year or so. To me this seems like a weirdly specific attack on one of our most precious communications assets for a peripheral power, in their eyes.”

“Legacy?” Paul Pickering finally offered as he shrugged. “We were one of the largest empires in the world. We still have significant military and economic clout and could be considered a sleeping lion.”

Frederick scoffed, causing Pickering to frown in his direction.

“Oh come off it Paul.” Frederick snapped. “We’ve got three different bush wars ongoing we’re barely holding our own against because we cannot bring our strength to bare properly out of the double problems of cost and public will. Large chunks of our military are hilariously out of date compared to other states, I mean when the bloody Freestians have more consistent equipment than us you know we’re doing something wrong.” He counted off on his fingers. “The most likely thing that is occurring here is where we’re still any good. One.” A finger went up. “Our communications abilities are almost unique in their encoding with the blend of biological computing and applied quantum mechanics. If they can hit and freeze up an Overseer they can do anything they damn well please. Two, our intelligence gathering in some fields, especially foreign cultures is almost second to none, we know how to make people blend in and unassuming a lot better than people give us credit for. And three, the five percenters.”

Williams tensed a little at that mention and Frederick had noticed it with his calm untelling eyes. It was a privately circulated report denoting strength and competency of the Midlonic Armed forces. It had gone into great length to compile morale and equipment reports and the results had been quite staggering. With little in the way of foreign adventurism required for the Midlonians and the need to use the military to police unstable regions within its borders a number of Midlonian units were considered “unfit for front line, equal force action.”

Quite a large number in fact. The report had estimated that out of the staggering 45 million members of the Armed Forces just five percent were fit for use in a big stand up fight. The rest were considered unable to adequately discharge their duties for anything longer than a single month in any kind of high intensity combat either through equipment status, supply status or simple training and morale. The “Five percent” were those the cameras filmed the most and those that were sent out the most often on foreign exchanges. The Mainland Corps, the Lost Soldiers, the Paras and assorted Space Navy units.

The report had been ruthlessly suppressed, and equipment was being sorted as they spoke, as well as a new training regimen that meant that suddenly soldiers were appearing to do random civil engineering tasks and various other “brute force” morale boosting exercises. It had been dressed up as an attempt at raising public awareness of the military. The reality was it was to try and get the armed forces somewhat up to scratch.

Williams shuffled his papers uncomfortably and shot a glance to Frederick who gave back a look that said ‘you know it’s true.’

“We use them as boogey men and muddy the waters elsewhere so they think all the armed forces are like the Ghouls or the Lost Soldiers, we’re smokescreens.” Frederick relaxed a little more into his chair. “Simple as that, someone is calling our bluff by marginalizing what little force multiplier assets we had.”

“We can look it it another way.” Williams suddenly said. “Gives us a month in which nobody can tell what the hell we’re doing. We can push through and on with harder training and the electronic spies can’t do jack. Personally I’d say it was to target our ability to move the space fleets. We’re stuck at snail speed until we can fix the problem. Means our smaller numbers in space don't have their force multipliers until we can fix it.”

Frederick nodded, conceding the point.

“I want that virus, Fred.” Bagnall said suddenly.

“Sir?” Frederick glanced to his left with a slight frown.

“I want it pulled out of the Overseer and analysed. And if it cant you find a way of getting another copy.”

“We’ll try our best.” Frederick said before the realization crept over his face with a slight twitch of the face that was barely noticeable to all bar those who knew him well. Or thought they did anyway.

“Right, any other matters to attend to relating to this matter?”

“Analysis of the footage if we’ve got it would be good.” Ventured Hillcrest as he looked up from where he was scribbling notes.

“We’re still working on that.” Frederick said, but a tap on the small screen in front of him brought up the video footage on the other small screens around the table. “But we’ve managed to identify two maybe three people in the shot. The rest are internal movers and shakers.”

“Unusual for you to admit to not knowing everything and everyone in a film Frederick.” Pickering said his beard twitching. “Right down to what toilet paper they bloody use usually.”

“As said, harder to cultivate contacts after such a short time with any kind of relations.” Frederick said with a sigh. “Annoying I know. But still. We’ve managed to identify this man.” He stopped and zoomed the camera on one person. “This is Crown Prince Edward, heir to the throne, takes a typical gung ho approach to battle like the rest of the monarchy. We know basically nothing on this kid. He’s young, ambitious, attends a number of public events yadder yadder. Only thing we’ve got more on him is actually via someone else.” He tapped his screen again and this time a very short clip that looped a little is that of a woman of similar age gripping his knee just a little clumsily before rising.

“Naiya D’Acquisto.” Frederick said with a little relish. “Pretty young thing, chosen heir to the Dominion. Scudbucket is that they shacked up together. Remarkable what you get out of Ardan soldiers off duty with a few drinks.” That elicited a few chuckles around the table. “She’s currently serving within the Ardan military in a ceremonial rank but it got a few people’s backs up because of it, some of whom were happy enough to express such publicly. We have a little on her and Marcus.”

He paused a little.

“The other rumour we’ve picked up but yet to fully confirm is that she’s not Devon’s child. And she’s in Arda because that’s actually where her father is, who said father is we’re not sure about but we’re looking into it.” Frederick shrugged. “Its our opinion the attack would have been more focused towards them than us as is anyway, two heirs to thrones, the death of whom would seriously destabilize both The Dominion and the Five Kingdoms. Whether it worked or not. No clue. Comms have been shut down since the attack, airspace was shut down a few minutes ago too within Arda and we’re having to do similar because communications is difficult. Standard protocol would be for our agents in Arda itself to go dark for a while until things settle for a bit.”

“So everywhere’s in a mess.” Hillcrest concluded usefully.

“In short, yes.” Frederick said with another simple shrug.

“So, terror attack on potentially two future heads of state and us. A broadcast that went out world wide showing this fact, and a virus underneath it to ensure someone is saying ‘this is what we can do, this is our reach’ by putting comms and recon on the fritz.” Bagnall said with a sigh and a hand in his unruly mop. “Wonderful, crackpot terrorists who can actually do the stuff they say they can do.”

“Might actually be a foreign power meddling, destabilizing the Ardans. Keeping them weak and divided rather than focused. Could list a long, long name of states who wouldn’t want Arda to succeed in any capacity. The Empire of Drona, for example leaps most immediately to mind.” Hillcrest mentioned with a flick of his pen in thought.

“I couldn’t see Drona being behind this personally.” Hillcrest chimed in. “As much as they might want Arda weakened I cannot see their emperor being so reckless, especially with Marcus, Naiya’s brother no less, now being seen in public doing things within Drona on the basis he will assume control from his father. They grew up together. I cannot see him suddenly allowing his father to kill off his sister and the new Crown Prince of a foreign nation on the basis of destabilizing Arda.”

“I have to agree with George.” Pickering said. “Drona would seem to be to be too obvious choice. On top of that I don’t see them wanting to suddenly annoy both Arda and the Dominion as some sort of precautionary measure for keeping one or the other in a weakened state. From the public buff released on D’Acquisto she’s doted on her kids. Anything happens to them, the woman wouldn’t stop until whoever did whatever paid very harshly indeed.”

“I could see it, from what little we’ve gleamed so far Devon has had an odd obsession with the girl. Tags on her movement spotted by our own agents doing the same damn thing, but they’ve either not noticed us, or not cared, we’re really not all that consequential to them.” Another voice spoke. The figure had been silent for the whole conversation so far. Dressed in a powder blue uniform his hair was fair and blonde. The ageless face seemed a little faint even more so under the harshness of the fluorescent lighting.

“Don't you find that a bit odd, Tristan?” Frederick replied to the figure. “I can understand the Dominion keeping the girl in sight at all times, but Dronans too?

“Oh, no, not particularly. She’s a Cyrpto.” The vampire cheerily said to the sudden raised eyebrows of the people around the table.

Cyrpto was a term used for any being not fully human, nor actually able to be properly classified.

“Not sure what kind but she’s not totally human. The Ardan connection might mean she has some sort of Cyrpto father. Nathicana is most definitely human before you start making gags at the Dread Lady.” He added.

“Great, so we going to have a mythical angle to this mess too? What next the return of Franz?”

“We of course don't know.” Bagnall said over the few chuckles that had elicited. “So for now we should probably not make wild assumptions. Until we have some more concrete ideas about what is going on there. We should try to unravel the damage done, reestablish recon and the communication networks as best we can. Finally to find out what the hell happened in Arda and to grab hold of that virus.”

[Treznor]

"We've got to help," the Heir of Treznor declares, his hands forming fists in response to the depth of his conviction. "People are suffering and dying. We can't just sit on the sidelines!"

"Sit down, Marcus," his father says quietly. His voice doesn't betray the same urgency as that of his son's, but the order is explicit. The young man sits as instructed, but his body language screams of frustration. "This is happening in Arda. We've never had particularly good relations with them, even after your ill-advised side trip. And you haven't taken over my seat, yet, so cool your heels."

"How can you be so callous to these people's needs?"

"All right, genius son of mine. There's a rebellion taking place in a nation that we have historically opposed. To whom do we offer our help? The legally recognized government of that nation, or the rebels looking to replace them? Do we set ourselves up as friends of the dictatorship in place, or do we piss off that same dictatorship by trying to help the rebels overthrow them?"

Marcus scowls fiercely. "We could at least be offering to send medical supplies to help the wounded."

"Again, to whom? Do we piss off Konrad by offering aid to people looking to pull him down? Or do we insult him by suggesting he doesn't already have the means to take care of his own people and again demonstrate that we'd rather see him as dictator than allow the people to choose their own fate?"

"You're twisting everything around!"

"I am. Because that's precisely what this situation is: twisted. Anything we do, even anything we don't do will reflect on our attitudes toward Arda's leadership and this rebellion. For that matter, we don't even know who started this rebellion or what their motives are. It can't be a coincidence that this started shortly after Alkanphel made his miraculous return after twenty years of being safely dead." The snarl on the old man's lips can't be denied as he voices the name of his old enemy. "Is this Alkanphel looking to stage a coup, or a distraction for something else? Is Alkanphel even the mastermind behind it, or a pawn? We don't know. Acting prematurely will only hurt us."

"Ben," Marcus pleads to another of the gray-haired men at the table. "Please."

"I'm sorry, Highness," Ben replies. "But your father is right. You should know by now that he usually is. Arda and their allies don't trust the Empire, and the recent diplomatic exchanges won't change that. Your father plays the long game, and sometimes that means sitting back and waiting while we keep digging for more information."

"But there must be something we can do!"

"Of course there is, Highness. Just because we have poor relations with Arda doesn't mean we don't have channels we can pursue. In particular, your mother has a direct line, and we can use that to quietly offer our support. But as the Emperor pointed out, we still have to decide where to offer our support. Even if we offer purely humanitarian aide to both sides, it'll be used against us if our involvement is revealed. So it behooves us to tread cautiously, Highness. This is a time for intellect, not passion."

"I know you want to help the rebels," Treznor says. "I know you want to promote the kind of idealistic reforms there you have in mind for this Empire. When you take my seat then you can try it. But remember that idealism is a powerful tool, but not an end unto itself. People can take that idealism and twist it to promote their own ends, so you have to make sure you know who you're dealing with. All we have now are images of an uprising, transmitted through a virus of surprising complexity. It may be that by helping them you'll be supporting an evil even greater than the one you know now. And if we can find a way to help the people while improving our relations with Arda, you can use that to influence that region toward the kinds of change you want to see. But it won't happen if we simply reinforce their notion that we want to conquer or destroy them."

Marcus visibly deflates. "Yes, Papa."

"Right," Treznor turns to the rest of his council. "Julie, send out a standard ROI to all our allies and contacts. Let's see if anyone noticed something we've missed. I think it's too early to meet with any of our allies, but if we don't call them then they'll be calling us soon. Ben, see what assets we can dedicate to tracing the source of the transmission. Offer triple bonuses to our Hack contacts. Also put your ear to the ground to see what people are saying about the event, and how often our name comes up. Sandra, raise our defense forces' status to heightened; if anyone does decide that we're somehow involved, we don't want to get caught with our pants down."

There's a pause as people jot down their new orders.

"Anything else?"

"What about our own people?" Marcus asks. "What do we say to them?"

Treznor drums his fingertips on the table. "Let's go crazy: tell them the truth. Let them know about the unrest, but we don't know who the players are and that per standard policy and our NDA treaty obligations, we're treating this as a purely internal affair within Arda. Consequently, we are and will remain neutral. I'll let you make the announcement. But first, let's you and I go talk to your mother."

[Spirit of Hope]

Sargent John Heart was in the armory, quietly cleaning his equipment with the rest of his squad. In the background the TV was playing, the semi-finals of some sports game or another, John honestly didn’t care. John set down his rifle and moved to begin maintenance on his armor when he heard one o his squad mates swear. HE turned and saw everyone else staring at the screen, he wandered over, then stopped.

“What in the world?” He muttered to himself, the game was no longer on the TV, something else was. Then as soddenly as it had started it was over, and the game was back on.

The door opened and a soldier from another squad poked his head in.
“Did you guys just see what happened on channel 13? That looked crazy, almost like part of a movie or something.”

“Yah we did… Wait did you say 13? We’re on channel 32” John replied, frowning.

“Crap, that means it was an override signal, but why that?” Somebody asked.

“That’s a question for the higher ups, lets finish our equipment check here first” John replied, but something just didn’t feel right.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day in space started normally, wake up, eat from a tube, begin another exiting day of research. Doctor Allison Lee had been in space doing this research for enough time for zero gravity to seem almost normal.

The research was interesting, both in a scientific sense and in the military application sense. It was all very interesting, but not something you needed a top-flight theoretical physicist for, who also was an excellent coder, and a fairly good engineer. In short Doctor Lee was bored, she was to smart for her work.

Normally she would solve this problem by starting some pet project, but she didn’t have the time, watching the readouts and studying what they meant took time. Which is why when the alarm began to blare Doctor Allison Lee was almost happy at the break from routine, something was happening.

As fast as se could she swam over to the nearby computer council, carefully she plugged in. As a member of Ragnarök Institute she had been able to get the expensive human to computer uplink, now she used it.
Instantly she felt what was wrong, signal with earth was lost; instead they were receiving a video. She didn’t bother looking at the video; instead she moved to reestablish communications. Quickly she looked through the code spotting the problem, a virus was plugging this signal in instead of the regular communications.

Calmly she traced the virus, which lead nowhere. Next came tracing the video, again nothing she could use. Finally she decided to look at the virus, that was a surprise, unknown language, and formatting. So instead Allison moved to contain and fix the damage. Shortly the alarms stopped blaring, communication was restored.

Allison smiled, she had gotten a small portion of the virus, now she had a pet project. She was going to have fun trying to figure out this language and formatting.
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President Alfred Wardson was busily working when the door to his office opened.
“What is it?” He snapped tersely, he wanted to finish soon, it was his daughter’s birthday and he didn’t want to miss too much.

“Sir, it appears there was an assassination attempt in Arda.”

“And this needs to come to my attention why? Do the usual, send them our condolences, and wish the capture the perpetrators etc., its not like they are a powerful or strategic ally, heck we barely know them!”

“Well, sir, the assignation attempt was televised, and the broadcast overrode all of our TV signals, are techs don’t have a clue how it happened either. Secondly The signal came with a virus, which attacked secure communications. The secure communications didn’t get penetrated, looks like we weren’t the primary target and most of it is of the net.”

“Well then offer to help Arda in the search, and try to figure out who did this and how, if they can do this once they can do it again. I don’t want anyone attacking our systems with a virus. Technically that’s a declaration of war.”

“Will do sir, I’ll update you on what we find out from Arda. Also, I’ll send you everything our techs come up with.”

“Good, now please go, I have work to finish.” The President got back to work, smiling. It looked like he would be finished in time for his daughters birthday cake.

[Kajal]

Lume I
Derin Lume is the head of the Kajali Diplomatic Mission to the Five Kingdoms. Previously Ambassador-at-Large to Mars, he is the second Diplomatic Officer appointed Ambassador to the Five Kingdoms in the past ten years.

Embassy of the Triumvirate of Yut, Ali'Staan

Derin Lume was having a very, very bad day. By all reports, the broadcast that had interrupted his regularly scheduled ambassadorial report to the government back home in Kajal hadn't been a local phenomenon, even though few governments had decided to go public about it. Even worse, the aftermath of it had impacted the local communications infrastructure enough that what did work was patently reserved for military purposes, as far as he could tell. There was effectively no way to communicate through regular channels until the crisis had been resolved.

Of course, this meant that his office - and the others in the Triumvirate of Yut Embassy, established years ago - were in chaos, as far as he could tell. Even communications through Trium-standard means seemed to be down, or severely limited, which meant that getting any word out remained difficult.

Still, after what seemed to be an indeterminable amount of time, Ambassador Lume's report on the incident filtered through the chain of command back home - just as many others undoubtedly had in several other nations. It had been terse, given the lack of time to explain in any detail, but the response was just as he feared.

We are aware of the situation. A SYSNET breach occured in the time period corresponding to the broadcast. Point of entry has been identified as Diplo Node attached to Yut embassy. Investigation ongoing.

No mention of a broadcast was made, though the omission of information meant nothing. The ansible linking the nodes had gone down almost immediately following the broadcast, no doubt shut off to prevent further intrusion. In addition, considering that the node itself was only indirectly connected to the local networks, it seemed the only possibility was that some unknown actor had gained access to the node.

Derin had effectively been cut off from the rest of Kajal. With that in mind, he started composing a new report. He'd likely face some fallout over it later, given the Combined Federal Services' usual plodding pace, but he didn't have time to wait three weeks to issue a statement, addressed generally to his counterparts within the governments of the Five Kingdoms.

It has become apparent that the broadcast interrupting all forms of communication within the Ardan region has also interrupted several communications channels within the Federated Imperium of Kajal, being viewed simultaneously within the colonies established on Venus and Mars in addition to centres of government on Solanna.

It is also suspected that the content of the broadcast has been deposited into Kajali networks. The main point of entry is believed to be the node retained at the Triumvirate of Yut embassy by the Federated Imperium for secure communications between the Kajali delegation and Solanna. As this node is the primary point of communications between the Five Kingdoms and the Federated Imperium, it represents the most likely, accessible entry point.

Embassy security has begun an investigation into this incident. However, they feel it is unlikely that any definitive information will come to light.

Derin Lume
Ambassador to the Five Kingdoms
Federated Imperium of Kajal

Derin sighed. As part of the investigation into the breach, and most likely due to local emergency policies, the Kajali offices within the embassy had also been sealed. He wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

Macha I
Fleet Admiral Ierenn Macha, Commander In Chief, Combined Federal Naval Services, lead the remnants of the trapped Kajali Home Fleet in the aftermath of the Large Spatial Anomaly One incident, alongside the TYCS Ninth Guard Fleet.

Combined Federal Services Coreward Colonial Theatre Command, Shalbatana, Kajal Mars

Fleet Admiral Ierenn Macha was not pleased, and he most definitely was not someone who was used to being told "No." After the Incident (Officially the Large Spatial Anomaly One Incident), he'd been the de facto military commander of the Kajali fleet that had been declared lost in the aftermath of the incident, only to reappear two years later alongside what was left of the TYCS Ninth Guard Fleet due to a quirk of the anomaly.

It had colored his attitudes somewhat. The central government had emerged unscathed thanks to the efforts of allies, and while it continued to recognize the rank he had taken in accordance with emergency procedure, they had assigned someone to watch him.

Li Vaan was not a particularly diplomatic person either.

"I cannot allow you to deploy any forces to the Ardan region, no matter the intentions. I agree that diplomatic personnel and the attached military presence must be extracted as soon as possible. However, your proposal will only serve to inflame tensions and suspicions in light of the recent terrorist actions."

"If we hadn't established that embassy, none of this would have meant jack shit to us. And, from what I've heard, our efforts there haven't exactly gone well."

"You know better than anyone that we can't afford to antagonize an entire region of nations that we ourselves were once closely allied with. Any military action will destroy what little goodwill we have left with Arda, given the long memories on both sides."

"At least we had the good sense to execute everyone in Dajal's cabinet. We can't trust them."

"No. We can't. But we rose up, just like they did, and overthrew our Old Imperium as they did theirs. The cold war has to end.

Your request to initiate military action is DENIED. Should you, or any under your command undertake such actions without sanction, you will face the full brunt of the law in these matters.

Is that understood?"

"Yes, Madam," Macha sneered. As soon as the transmission blinked off, he opened a new channel.

"This is Macha. Admiral Vaan is unreceptive to extraction operations. I want you to assemble a strike force with sufficient carrying capacity to evacuate our embassy personnel in Arda."

There was no video feed from the other end, but the response came in the characteristically garbled fashion of the Enhanced Special Operations Regiment. "We sympathize, Admiral, but acting without sanction will end your career."

"I'll make sure it doesn't. You have your mission. I'll leave the details up to you."

"...Yes, Admiral."

Keral I
Her Imperial Highness Lirella Meraia Keral is the Imperatrix of the Federated Imperium of Kajal, and de jure ruler of Kajal.

Hir-Kajurmani, Solanna Capitol Region

It wasn't often that she went unnoticed. The moment the doors slid open, it was chaos. The new heart of Kajali government, both in name and function, had exploded overnight. Several of the top brass of the military were present, lining the balconies near massive projections of space that illustrated the last known positions of all military assets. Around others, huge groups had gathered, as frame-by-frame analysis of the 47 second broadcast continued. still, in the highest balconies, hundreds argued and shouted, even as the furious pounding of gavels continued.

So much for a measured response...

The chaos briefly halted when she ascended to the parliament's balcony. Some traditions, at least, were still observed.

"All rise, and pay respect to Her Imperial Highness, Lirella Keral."

"Be seated. I come before this assembly as it is obvious that the decision making process has stalled."

"With all due respect," came the response, from one of the less prominent members. "You have no power to intervene in these proceedings."

"In normal circumstances, you would be correct. However, these are not normal circumstances. Pursuant to the Emergency Powers Act, the Parliament of the Federated Imperium of Kajal is hereby suspended until such a time that the situation arising in Arda is resolved. Members are advised to communicate with their counterparts abroad by any means possible that the Federated Imperium of Kajal intends to support the current governments of the Five Kingdoms in resolving this incident.

Should you refuse to do so, you will be removed from office until the resolution of this incident."

The chamber erupted in anger, and most were escorted out under the watch of Internal Security. It wasn't a particularly proud moment, transforming the Federated Imperium into an effective dictatorship, but the elected government had wholly failed, in Lirella's opinion. After she departed, a brief message was sent, addressed solely to Angsiyan Konrad Althalon IV and Angsiyii Nadia Roark I.

I realize that relations between the Federated Imperium of Kajal and the Five Kingdoms have historically been cold, however, given the history between our nations, and increasingly close ties between the Five Kingdoms and our allies within the Triumvirate of Yut, the Federated Imperium of Kajal is committed to supporting the Five Kingdoms as you see fit in this incident.

I, personally, will arrive at Mars within the day to oversee efforts in this regard. You should also find Kajali personnel in the Triumvirate Embassy to be most receptive to your requirements. Should this not be the case, they shall be dealt with.

With all due pomp and respect,
Her Imperial Highness,
Lirella Meraia Keral
Imperatrix of the Federated Imperium of Kajal

There wasn't much doubt in her mind that the first act of the reformed government would be to abolish the Imperial Family's role as heads of state. It was a problem that would have to wait.

[The Lords of War]

Gunkanjima Island, Xingu, Arda,

Darkness….it enveloped him like some former lover. It was not the darkness of a starless night or even the darkness of a windowless room. It was a heavy darkness, a darkness one found where light itself was the invader.

Keith stood in the darkness and waited. The sound of breathing, of water dripping, and a distant air leak alleviated the weight of the darkness somewhat. It was the familiar scent of oil mixed with sweat and cold humidity that kept Keith’s fear locked in her cage.

“Mister Hardcourt?” The tentative voice was young and inexperienced. It cut through the darkness and rang off the walls like a dull hammer.

“Yeah, enough time for them to correct a minor issue.” He put the mine radio up to his mouth and pressed the send key.

“Support this is GM do you copy?”

Static was the only response. A light appeared behind the bulk of a mining machine as one of the miners finally decided to turn on his headlamp and burn some of his battery time. The light was almost eaten by the dark basalt walls of the mine. Only the white Quincy Mining Company logo on its red background became discernible by the illumination.

“GM to Support…Do you copy…..GM to Oper…”

This is Support GM…..Ah…..

“Why is all power down in section four alpha five?”

GM…The power is on in section four alpha….Oh ********, we seem to have had an….error….

Suddenly, the lights came back on. The electric motors of the grav-drill started to hum again. The supplementary fan began to pull air back towards the shaft with the slight pining of an unbalanced fan blade.

Hardcourt scowled and looked at the miners who were now clustering around the end of the drilling machine. Two of the five faces were old grizzled hands of the QMC who had transferred here for the pay. The remaining three were locals, one a fairly young kid. They all looked to Hardcourt for guidance; or at least the appearance of guidance. “Keep cutting around it Zen, I know…it will throw you off schedule, but this is a test audit in the first place…and that pure platinum nugget you’ve hit is worth more intact than just its metallic value.”

There was the problem. In any previous mining operation Keith had worked, the miners would know instinctively how rare, and beautiful that platinum nugget was. The locals however were focused on maintaining the schedule. That difference had brought Benson, an old QMC hand, almost to blows with Zen, the team lead. Only the fact that Zen had not known the over-ride command on the machine had preserved the rare nugget from being hammered out of place, with full gravimetric power.

Hardcourt turned and walked down the audit shaking his head. Not knowing, that as of a few minutes ago, personnel conflicts were the least of his problems.

Cara Prime, New Shiron Protectorate, Earth

Zithra Kevin Mara sat quietly at his terminal and composed a report in Low Var-E. Outside of his glass enclosed office the cool darkness of the two communication centers buzzed with normal late night activity.

The Zithra noticed the problem on the Inner House video feeds first. The odd hesitant flashes of color and large blocks of green drew his attention. The first few seconds had whole sections alternating between a fight scene and green swaths indicating that the software had just given up trying to decompress that section of the image.

Zithra Mara turned his head back towards the displays of the Outer Channels in their control center and saw the last twenty seconds before a foreign test pattern flashed. Then the test screen began to vanish as channels returned back to original programming. The response was ragged, showing the ability of the various communication firms to correct the problem in-house.

Zithra’s eyes went over to the T-System screen and noted with satisfaction that all of the government program feeds were back online.

Now he just needed luck to have everyone….

One of the phones on his desk began to beep. Zithra Mara closed his eyes and swore for a moment to himself. He picked up the line, looking at the display to tell him who was on the other end.

--SeLord Ke’nar--

The Zithra closed his eyes and hoped for the best. <Communications, I shall serve thee SeLord?>

<I require explanation to this interference>

< I shall Selord. I will upon swiftness find the source of the interference.> Zithra Mara answered, thanking the Unknown God that Selord wasn’t using High Var at the moment.

<The identity and House of the one who interfered I require be given to my Zithra upon the 20th of the planets turning…>

Zithra looked at the clock and swore to himself. The nagging fact that the Inner House systems hadn’t switched to the proper decompression routine was throwing up red flags about the source being an outsider. The fact that it had it hit all the commercial vendors at once spoke of some serious signal strength and broadcast width.

<Selord, what you demand I may not provide. The event, as I have seen, puzzles me.>

<You question my demands Zithra? Give answer to why you are puzzled and protest my orders.>

<I only protest the results you demand Selord. For the communications of the Inner House did take the attack also. But in the attack, demonstrated a lack of ability upon one part, that the source had not the knowledge of the proper hidden language within the picture to allow the Inner House video systems to properly decompress the message.>

The Zithra swallowed, he was on thin ice if the Selord took issue with his protest.

<So you say a Stranger hath done this?>

<Aye, Selord a Stranger with powerful systems, for all of the Outer video was also affected.>

There was silence for a moment.

<A Stranger has sent a missive of unknown message to us all. Is this what you believe Zithra?>

<Aye, Selord…A Stranger has sent a message in a manner of affront. I know not why, or from where, this affront comes to the Houses of the Var… or the Land of Shiron.>

< I send you to the Kithra to make report upon this. The Kithra shall lead your actions on this matter. I shall tell the Kalord of this incident when some knowledge of who or where exists in both of thy minds.>

<Aye, Salord, I shall contact the Kithra’s duty zir immediately with my knowledge.>

<You shall tell me of what knowledge you have gained. Do you question this?>

<I understand and follow Salord>

<Good night Zithra Mara. You show promise, may you show more promise with this mission.>

<Aye Salord.>

There was a pause. It was bad manners to hang up on anyone of higher rank. Which left the Zithra pondering what was going on as he stood waiting for the click on the other end of the line.

<I return to watching the native dances of the planet. Illuminate for me Zithra…the providers of this distraction call it> Dance with Stars < Yet no sky-fusion appear. I am troubled by this fact. The race devolves to stupidity I believe.>

<Salord the title of ‘Star’ refers not to the presence of sky-fusion but the presence of entertainers of note.>

<I see no entertainers of note upon the screen>

<Salord, perhaps they are only of minor note>

<Kaa…So be it, I am amused…let them prance upon the floor as fools…with minor Terrans of note>

The line went dead and the zithra dropped into his chair. He rotated himself slightly and noted that his people were making quick glances at his office. He stood and walked to the port side door.
<Ha’ne call down the recall roster. I want all hands to stations before the sun returns to the horizon. Kenner contact Nithra Ne’tah upon my need and I shall speak to him upon our orders. Merna retrieve the copy of that transmission for our need and to send to the Kithra.>

The Zithra walked back to his desk to pick up the phone. He stopped and considered that he was calling the intelligence service of the Confederation, the Kithra, and not the New Shiron government. He shrugged and started to dial.

Gunkanjima Island, Xingu, Arda,

(2 hours later)

Keith looks out of his office window at the main square as his senior officers argued amongst themselves. The square before him is framed by long low buildings and filled with several young saplings around a grass filled center. The buildings here are essentially Quincy’s administrative complex for the island and mine. They are all built in the same art deco style and covered in a soft yellow ceramic tile. The various sculptures around the main doorways, and on the fountain in the courtyard, have been starling to the locals. Apparently they are not used to such decorative elements in architecture.



His eyes wander to the left, to see two of the three towering buildings that are shafthouses 2 and 3. Most of the rock handling equipment is underground. Arda seems fairly good at building things underground, but the skiffs themselves, and the miners were brought to the surface by the massive winches and head frames that filled the tall structures. The shafthouses look like squat stone obelisks with their sloping sides and concrete siding.



Keith turns his gaze back towards the other side of the narrow island and his eyes fall on the small, concrete octagon isolated from the world by two rings of high steel fencing. Damn it… pops into his head and he returns his attention to the management team.

“Alright so let me make sure I have the complete picture. Based on security’s analysis what we got a picture of was a Xinguese attack on Arda military forces…”

One of the Xinguese managers begins to speak but Keith waves him down. “I don’t care about who they attacked. Although your suggestion that one of those officers is from the Dominion does make me even more worried that we’re dealing with a bunch of nut jobs.”

Eric Na’tha looks up from his lap pad and nods. “I wasn’t wrong Keith, that is how much is down there, we haven’t made a mistake in Secure”

Keith deflates and walks behind the desk. It, like the office, was designed to impress as much as be functional. He drops into his leather chair and looks at his Head of Operations. “That much bullion, how in the hell did we get that much bullion in reserve?”

Eric sighs, “Because rather than just take a 25% cut of the proceeds of the sale, the Ardan Government has just been buying out our share of the bullion, not all of it but a great deal of it. Why? I would guess someone thought it a better place to stick surplus cash from the trade surplus rather than some other nations T-Bills. Not a bad investment policy at the moment considering the rising price of metals.”

“So my Secure Storage Facility is now a platinum bullion reserve?” Keith asks with concern in his voice.

“No, actually I think the sums are likely small compared to all of the Ardan Government’s holdings in platinum bullion at the moment….or even in terms of the government budget…But….” Eric looks up with concern in his eyes.

“There is enough platinum, palladium, and gold down there to cause small nations to drool.” Keith nods. He purses his lip as brown eyes become slightly distant in thought.

“What small nation is going to attack Arda? Besides nations full of suicidal leaders…I suppose there could be another Neo-Tyr out there but…” begins an assistant manager.

It is Regan Withers who answers, “I am worried that we’ve become a nice sudden revenue source for a group of local terrorists who want to fund a revolution. I doubt this money would be effective to fund a long term, stand up fight. However someone using force multipliers and unconventional warfare, it is a possible major funding source.”

Keith nods at his Head of Security. She is intelligent and hardworking, a valued asset. If the Vaadian’s hadn’t gone messing with the Alconian Intelligence Service, would likely still be a deep cover operative somewhere.

“But do they know that?” Wen Nashu asks. The small man is head of Supply and is obviously more worried than most of the non-local staff. “I mean we didn’t know…”

Keith nods and looks at Regan. Regan turns slightly to look at Will Drath. Drath is a tall fellow dressed in a grey suit and is spread across a couch as if he owns the place. “No, because 60% of that bullion in Secure was sold to the Ardan government. Which made it go poof and vanish off our inventory and onto our balance sheet. It is on Customer Reserves books but their just billing someone the storage fee. What it has not done is vanish from the accounting of some very well informed analysts. Analysts who have repeatedly published those estimates in the global media….”

Draths waves off Wen’s concerned look. “It is the QMC IPO rumor that bit us on this one. It started...oh... two or three years ago. Apparently some underwriters still see it as a possibility and have kept a few of their independent analysts publishing speculation on our book value. I don’t know where they pulled their numbers from. We intentionally buy mismatching quantities of materials for ammonium chloride and aqua regia to keep them guessing, but most of them are spot on.”

Draths shakes his head as he sits up a bit more and adjusts his silk jacket before picking up a folder. “Of what I’ve skimmed…they are within ten percent of what we actually have produced, refined and sold in the markets. But apparently they don’t know Arda’s penchant for platinum hording, because they have stuck the discrepancy on our reserve balance sheet. Great for increasing our valuation but…”

Regan picks up the thread. “Gives a hell of a nice estimate for anyone wondering how rich a target our Secure is. That means we look like a nice, rich target for a raid in strength…enough manpower to both overwhelm our defenses and haul out the bullion after they’ve taken Secure. And it will be a raid, they are not going to stick around to defend it when Arda comes sweeping in to teach them a lesson.”

She shifts slightly and moves forward on her chair. “This is the problem people. We have serious security, but it was designed to resist attempts by pirates and special force teams from penetration from the outside…and monitor for theft inside the facility. Now we could face a two prong attack considering the current political situation. An attack from outside and inside. I don’t know any of the true political orientation of the local staff so they are all question marks. But most importantly, we’re too dependent on automated security. A fifth column action with an outside raid in strength could cause some serious damage. I really have very little in mobile assets"



Regan holds up her hand and begins to count down the mobile assets she currently has. “I’ve got a few heavy armored vehicles with serious kill power augmented by about twenty light armored cars for patrols. But none of them are mobile air defense platforms. I’ve got three dog teams, and five four man squads of guards armed with grav pulse rifles and a tri-barrel per team. I also have eight patrol boats which gives me some air defense and missile defense capability. Then there is the Manchester which is a frigate for protecting supply ships as they approach in international waters. I also have enough personnel for the frigate and three patrol boats, another fifty people all told. That is it in mobile firepower besides a store of long arms.”

“We’re that weak?”

“No, I’ve got enough automated, fixed defensive systems to deal with a serious outside threat. Enough anti-air and anti-ship missile tubes with a full protective laser system to engage a flotilla of medium size naval and air vessels and a dozen or more remote controlled quad guns to keep small craft from getting near the shore. But someone designed our defense plan to rely heavily on fixed defenses. I assume to show the Arda government we are only interested in protecting the mine...and not a foothold for any kind of funny business.”

“But if they take down Security Command?” Keith asks with a resigned voice.

“All of the fixed defense goes off-line. And I don’t have the people to operate that equipment manually as well as maintain patrols, patrol boats and a quick reaction squad for bogies who break past the outer perimeter. “

Keith closes his eyes. “So you think we need reinforcements…That wasn’t a question just me restating the problem.”

Keith stood again and looked at the painting of the wall. It was of Lake Olympus in the Klatch with nondescript mountains behind it. Why they had put the massive painting on his wall was always a question he never could answer. But it distracted the front part of his mind for a moment as the back part made a priority action list.

“Eric send a memo to your contacts in the Arda government asking if they concur with our accounting of their precious metal inventory in our vaults. If we send it to the right people, the left hand may realize what the right is doing without us looking like were in a panic. Or they might just say ‘Ehh’…and ignore the memo but we at least put it on the pile for them to read.”

Eric nods, “I was thinking the same thing Keith.”

Keith turns to look at Draths. “I think you met a Colonel in the Arda military awhile back...Gave him a tour of the facility?” Draths nodded, “Yeah, really on the ball that one. Pretty much made the same military and political assessment Regan just did. I have his contact information on my desk. You want me to send a request to him? Say a polite inquiry of who should we tell we’re reinforcing our security detachment?”

“Yes and attach Eric’s memo. I think making it obvious that we’re worried because of their precious metal in our vaults might make them consider our position for a moment. They may move it, they may send in troops to protect it, they may just say ‘go ahead’ or they may ignore it. But let us try to work with them. I’m all for bringing our own people in Regan but…” Keith turns back to Regan as he says this.

“I follow you…The locals may wonder if we’re just protecting our facilities or bringing in people to help an Xinguese rebellion. But the Var are going to want to reinforce us themselves. The Great Houses will not like it that their investment is being threatened by a rebellion in Arda and protected by troops from Arda.” Regan replies, her eyes narrowing at the mention of the Var.

Keith walks back to the window and looks out. “Which is why I need to call Calara after this meeting. I expect to have an even worse headache after talking low Var for the remainder of the day.”

Eric stands up and everyone slowly follows his lead. They walk out the double doors to the reception area beyond talking softly to each other. Keith only muses about what the General Office, and the Confederacy were going to say. Those two groups overlapped in a few key areas and the joint response was going to be frigid at best. No they were not going to be at all happy with the situation in Arda or with Keith Hardcourt who was now in the middle of the mess.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Nathicana I

Nathicana D’Aquisto is the self-styled first Imperatrice and Dread Lady of the Dominion, mother to Naiya and Marcus, wife to Emperor Devon Treznor.

The transport arrangements that had been made for Evangelista had been postponed indefinitely. There was no traffic in or out of the Ardan empire at the moment, and until some accord could be reached with the government, there was as yet no reason to destabilize relations in forcing the issue.

Not now that Nathicana had both visual and verbal proof that Naiya was alive and well, albeit still further out of reach than she would prefer.

Her own plans for departure were currently on hold as well, given the circumstances. There were other matters that had to be attended to, information that she needed from her Ministry, and a plan of action that was required past what had already been implemented.

That she was irritated as much had been initially kept from her was an understatement, to say the least. And once her displeasure had been made patently clear on the point, to all and sundry thus far involved, the group was finally able to get down to business.

The walls still seemed to echo the last heated words of the infuriated Imperatrice, as she poured herself another glass of ice water from the pitcher that was always on hand for her use. Blue eyes flashing menacingly, she looked around the table at the seated Ministers, meeting each and every set of eyes to be sure proper attention was being paid – as if anyone would dare look to be focusing elsewhere at this point.

“How was it done,” she asked with deceptive calm, looking back to Antonio Pellegrino, her Minister of Central Intel, as she did so.

“That,” he replied after letting out a slow breath and bracing himself for the inevitable response, “Is something we are still working on. The systems were hacked. How, we’re not sure yet. Perhaps a viral intrusion that could have been planted at any given time in anticipation, perhaps directly inserted at the time of the attack. The point is, we’re still early in our investigations, and whoever ran the op was very good at it. I have people narrowing down a list of known governments and organizations capable of this sort of thing, and cross-referencing that data with any reported problems or dissatisfaction with either government – or simply a record of causing trouble.”

Pellegrino paused again before continuing. “Of course one of the organizations that has already cropped up is the Black Company mercenaries. I figured you may want to inquire on that yourself, given your ties there and the inherent complications that could arise should there be issues there.”

Nathicana was still frowning, but she brushed the suggestion aside with a curt wave of her hand. “I’ll talk to Jas, but I seriously doubt he would have involved his people in something like this. Maybe he’d have some insight into how it was done, however. I’ll put him in touch with your people. It’ll be worth the cost – he always is.”

Her gaze shifted to Donatello Calfa, who was already running some numbers on his datapad. “Easily done,” he confirmed. “I’ve been calculating reasonably expected costs of ramping up military activity on account, and thus far can’t see any problems in handling a conflict should one arise, for some time. Bernardo has been doing a damnably fine job of fattening our accounts through his economic and trade efforts, and we’ve enjoyed a good couple decades of peace and prosperity to boot. I realize no one wants to jump the gun, but it’s best to be prepared all the same.”

Nervous looks were exchanged over the suggestion of open conflict. They had been expecting something to happen for some time now, but it was as yet unclear if this was the opening shot in such a situation, or something entirely different. It was like watching for the boogeyman you were certain was hiding in the closet, yet didn’t have any real proof of it other than a vague suspicion. Unlike childhood fears however, the enemy they feared now had been all too real in the past, and they knew what it was capable of. Or at least, had been.

“If I may, another point we need to clarify,” Pellegrino added, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “This incident was apparently not limited to the Dominion and Arda. We have reports coming in from various points, some seemingly unrelated, that this event was repeated, simultaneously, in a number of regions and nations. Whoever is behind this clearly wanted it shown in as many places as possible.”

“To what end? To show they have the capability, to weaken ties between Arda and the Dominion, to simply introduce an element of chaos prior to further actions?” interrupted the Minister of Defense, Giancarlo Torino. “I fail to see the tactical significance of telegraphing one’s intent to cause trouble. We have far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. What did the Angsiyii have to offer, Imperatrice? Anything solid, or just more evasiveness?”

“There was an attack several hours following a military review. Naiya was in the presence of several high-ranking officers at the time, and Nadia believes the attack was directed at both the heirs. Her suspicions immediately went to Emperor Treznor, considering the debacle up on Machiavelli no doubt. I’ll be briefing him as soon as we wrap up here,” Nathicana offered without hesitation, her expression not lightening in the least.

“What is suspected currently is that the group behind the attack at least, are from a region in Arda that has long experienced some minority dissent, as she called it – Xingu? I’ll need someone to bring me up to speed on further details that way, if we have any. I’m sure Naiya would be able to enlighten us further, but for now, comms are extremely limited. I’m expecting a shuttle with my daughter to be inbound in the next twenty-four hours or so. Perhaps we’ll be able to get more information once she arrives. She’s been making quite a study of the history there, recent and more longstanding. And her recent experiences there could surely offer us better insight on the current atmosphere and situation politically and otherwise.”

Cesare Calabrese, Dominion Chancellor, watched the raven-haired woman speak, his own expression one of quiet concern. She wasn’t quite rambling, but it was clear she was upset, and mildly distracted by her daughter’s recent trauma. It was something they would have to keep in mind as the situation progressed.

“In any case, she doesn’t believe her nobles are involved, and for now, is on the surface at least considering it to be an operation by Xinguese nationalists who hold a grudge over their lack of kingdom representation, or at the furthest end, full-on separation. Surprisingly, she sums it up as ‘an utter failure and lapse’ on their part – a lapse, if you can believe. Mannagia, of all the understatements …”

“And the Principessa,” Calabrese encouraged quietly, breaking Nathicana out of her developing rant.

“I did speak with her, and though she was a bit roughed up, I will admit she looked well enough,” she confirmed, nodding to Cesare. There was a hint of pride in her voice, despite the obvious worry, along with the usual irritation that was present when mother and daughter didn’t see eye to eye.

“She stubbornly insisted that she wasn’t ready to leave yet, in spite of the obvious danger. She seemed to suggest there was something more to all of this, but she had just been through quite a bit, and was probably shaken,” Nathicana continued, thinking back to the brief conversation. “I understand her reluctance to leave, all things considered, but having her caught up in some Ardan uprising is simply not going to be allowed.”

“For what it’s worth, the Angsiyii did seem genuinely surprised, and disturbed at the scope of the broadcast,” Cesare added. “The one can be easily explained as a long-standing unrest coming to a head. The other …” He spreads his hands and shrugs ever so slightly.

“Which brings us back to whether or not the two are related, and if so, who is behind it, and what they are trying to achieve,” Giancarlo stated firmly in his growling voice. “I highly doubt a simple uprising from backwater Arda is sufficient to involve the international community. They’ve ample ability to take care of it in fairly short order without anyone else stepping in.”

“What are you suggesting, Gian?” Nathicana asked, looking over at the man sharply.

“I’m suggesting Naiya might be onto something, with her suggestion there’s something more to it than meets the eye. We just aren’t sure about what yet.”

“You don’t think that—“

“No, no … I’m still not convinced there’s a real threat there, in spite of Ardan paranoia.”

“Then why did you agree so readily to the joint operations?”

“Because as you and the Emperor have long said, Imperatrice, when it comes to paranoia, there really are only two kinds.”

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

Not long after, she was comfortably ensconced in her favorite office chair, the all-too familiar video conferencing she was forced to rely on more often than she liked queued up and running smoothly.

“You know about the recent broadcast, and the kerfluffle surrounding it?”

“I think everyone knows about that by now.”

“Mmm, yes. So it seems. You know the Ardans? They're still butthurt, and you’re on Nadia’s personal shitlist.”

“Color me surprised.”

“I’ll certainly color you something once I’m able to get my hands on you again. I take it this all came as a surprise?”

Treznor turns off-screen and pushes a button. “Ben!”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do we have any ops running in Arda you forgot to mention to me?”

“No, Sir.”

“Okay, do we not have any ops running in Arda that I really ought to know about?”

“No, Sir.”

“All right, thanks.” He turns back to the screen to address Nathicana once more. ”Hey, Red. I swear on Marcus' head, it wasn't me.”

“You do have the technological capability, and historically, there is little love lost across the board. Recent history hasn’t really helped.”

“Contrary to the impression I give people, I am neither omnipotent nor am I omnipresent. The ill-advised assassination attempt on...that bastard was a matter of targets of opportunity. This op was planned in detail, intended to disrupt an already unstable region. Frankly, stability suits me better.”

Nathicana nods, and smiles wryly. “I wouldn’t have thought you would be involved this time, mi amore. What has me concerned is the Ardan suspicions that you could have been, however little sense it makes. Nadia has been looking for some way to lay the blame at your feet since the station incident, whatever their claims to the contrary. Whatever happens in the next while, I’d just suggest you keep your ass covered more amply than usual, if possible.”

“That’s SOP, Red. You know that. Marcus was just haranguing me about not doing more for the poor, oppressed people of the region. I swear, I’m regretting sending the boy to Titan more and more every year.”

“On that point I might have to agree. I know he means well, but … that’s one mess he really, really shouldn’t want to get involved in.”

”Speaking of, your son wants a word with you.”

“Of course, put the idealistic little darling on.”

Marcus’ youthful face comes into view of the camera. He glares briefly at his father before turning to the screen. “Mama, please tell me you’ve got a way for us to communicate with Arda.”

Treznor smirks. ”Told you.”

“Yes, hello Marcus. So good to see you too,” Nathi remarks dryly. “Your sister is doing just fine, thank you for asking.”

”I know she is.”

His mother pauses briefly at that, then continues. “Right then. I’m expecting a response from the Angsiyii at some point in the near future, once she and Naiya get back to Daturius and make some arrangements for her return home. Exactly what did you have in mind?”

”Papa says we can’t help, but there has to be a way! We can’t just let those people suffer! At least we should be offering humanitarian assistance!”

Nathicana sighs , and idly rubs her temples. “You do realize we have no idea just how involved this little uprising is at this point, yes? Or where it’s going? Or who might be behind it? The only ‘suffering’ going on right now that I’m aware of has been well-earned, and damn the bastards for having chosen to get me and mine involved.”

Treznor smirks, and even from a distance she knows precisely what he’s thinking at the moment. She grits her teeth at her inability to smack him for it. Marcus, however, remains oblivious to their near-telepathic communication.

”Those are people on the ground, and even if they’re just pawns in a bigger game -- especially if they’re pawns in a bigger game -- they deserve our compassion. If only to know that we care about what happens to them, no matter what side they’re on.”

“How is it we never managed to teach you properly on choosing your battles, Marcus? If they are pawns in a bigger game, we had best figure out who the shadow players are so we’re better prepared to take care of our own, first and foremost. I realize it sounds a bit heartless, and you never have been able to make yourself think in those terms, but this is the reality of things. We don’t know what’s going on yet. And it would be foolish to jump in without having a better idea, end of.”

The young man fairly seethes with frustration. ”My point is that regardless of the identity of any shadow players, we have an opportunity to demonstrate our goodwill not just to the Ardan leadership, but also the people of Arda by offering aid. Something to ease suffering, like good neighbors will do. I’m not talking about landing troops or arming the rebels, just seeing to it that some lives that might be destroyed otherwise have a chance to survive.”

Treznor shrugs, interrupting finally. ”It doesn’t hurt to make the offer, Red. I’m not willing to go through official channels for reasons already mentioned, but since you’ve got the ear of the Angsiyii we can keep it purely unofficial. Even if all they do is accept the shipment and sit on it, it’s a gesture that costs us little.”

Nathicana watches the both of them closely for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she turns things over in her mind. “Dammit Dev, you know any involvement can be twisted given half the opportunity, however well-meaning - which is my main worry here. Still, if you both insist, perhaps we could make some sort of quiet offer, behind the scenes so to speak,” she says, then looks at her son. “Though perhaps it’s best to offer it in Marcus’s name. They don’t seem to have the same impression of him as you, and if this is the face he’s wanting to offer for the future, perhaps it’s best.”

”The boy does seem inclined to hare off on his own if we don’t make some sort of concession,” Treznor agrees. ”Operating at a remove should allow us somewhat of a buffer from possible recriminations; the Heir funding a humanitarian effort out of his own pocket makes for good press. And should an opportunity arise to learn more of conditions on the ground, it opens another channel of communication. We’ll accept whatever conditions the Ardan government chooses to impose, up to and including the possibility that they may respectfully decline our gesture of goodwill.”

Marcus looks ready to protest, but his father cuts him off abruptly. ”That is not up for discussion. We’ve spent a lifetime establishing a reputation for neutrality and playing by the rules. If the legal authorities decide they don’t want our help, we’re not going to force it on them. And if it comes to it, we can always send those supplies to other parties, like the Scolopendran Knights. Remember Iraqstan, Red?”

Her brows shoot up at that particular reminder. “An … interesting option, Dev. One to keep in mind, but perhaps as a later, if not last resort. Still, Marcus - if we do this, I want your word you’ll behave, and not press things further than your father has set out here. It’s a delicate situation, and quite frankly, neither of our nations can afford having the waters muddied further by any well-meaning mistakes.”

Marcus hangs his head slightly in a sulk, but he nods. ”Yes, Mama. I promise.”

Nathicana watches not Marcus, but his father’s reaction. When Treznor nods in response, she relaxes slightly. “Good,” she says, satisfied for now with the answers. “I’ll have my people get with yours on the details we have, if that’s ok, and see if we can’t sort this intrusion out between us. And in the meantime, I’ll wait for Nadia’s next comm, and pass on your offer. I should be hearing from her in the next few hours, I think, so long as they’ve been able to keep their communications straight. You’ll have your answer shortly after I get it.”

”We’ll be here. Marcus is going to have a long night ahead of him, now,” Treznor says ominously. Marcus throws him a quizzical look.

”You just created a mountain of paperwork for yourself, boy,” the older man explains. ”In order to satisfy everybody, including myself and the Ardans, you’re going to have to detail the entire shipment. Where it came from, who handled it and when, and sign off on the authenticity of the contents of each box before and after it’s shipped. We are not going to allow anyone to use this as an opportunity to slip in a bomb or worse.”

Marcus looks uneasy for the first time.

“Part and parcel of the whole leadership gig, my son. You insisted on it, you get to pull it all together now. It’s your responsibility, not your father’s,” Nathi echoes, smiling a bit in spite of herself. “You two take care of one another. All my love, as always.”

”Our love to you as well. Stay safe.”

[Scolopendra]

Mballa Ipolla I
Mballa is the unusually-titled democratic leader of the Federated Segments of Scolopendra,
the official head of the Akapendran Union, and the unofficial head of the Triumvirate of Yut.

Executive Apartments, Stonozka, Titan

"What's our exposure."

While it's meant as a question, Supreme Emperor Mballa Ipolla does not exactly ask it as one. She rarely does when she's annoyed, and she's always annoyed when national news happens... or, more accurately, when national news gets preempted for more national news. She gets particularly annoyed when this preemption is done by someone not under her command. Whilst her staff has not felt the force of her annoyance quite yet, it charges the atmosphere of her office with an oppressively tense cast.

"Top-level security links remain so," replies a woman in her early forties, a touch older than the obsidian-haired Ipolla and visually lighter in several different ways. She holds her hands in front of her, and speaks with the kind of plainness usually associated with honesty. Interesting, then, that she's in charge of the notorious Scolopendran Intelligence Section. "No penetration in the top secret, or secret categories throughout the system. Limited breakthroughs in the classified and restricted sections, primarily in DICTNET*. Classified and restricted storage appears untouched. Military restricted-level 'canary' gateway servers were attacked and shut down; networks switched to backups without fault. Civil service databases remain clean but several service front-ends were compromised through standard YutLink connections. We're sweeping all affected networks now to isolate anything that may have been left behind.

"Our first estimation," Intelligence Advisor Sharudi says with a slightly optimistic smile, "is that this was a proof-of-concept raid, transmission only. We can't say whether it was an injection or not until we detect an injected virus, but that seems unlikely. Data-wise, we remain secure, but our communications architecture can be considered a known quantity."

Mballa nods, the waves at the fringes of her shoulder-length hair bobbing with the motion. "Next step." Her brown eyes, slightly darker than her skin tone, skewer the next advisor in line.

"Well," Science Advisor Nikica Galić says, with his usual easygoing beat attitude shaken by being johnny-on-the-spot--what with network architecture falling under Science--he coughs lightly into one fist and reveals his academic background as he shifts into professorial mode. "If they know how are systems are arranged, it will be easier for them to do it again. We beef up security, sure, but in the immediate term we should switch things up, route things differently. There will be losses, of course, as we give up the most efficient linkages but it'll prevent architecture knowledge from being immediately exploitable, especially if the hacker does what hackers do and make this data public."

"Has it gone public." Eyes shift back to Sharudi.

"No. All of the media channels of the YutLink were disrupted, but the data transfer and internet protocol channels remained open. We've been scanning them through WINNOW and our plants in the undernet. There's even confusion in Escher's Star--everyone's calling this is some sort of massive Captain Midnight when it's much more subtle than that, all the channels were co-opted rather than simply out-broadcast. The sheer magnitude of the hack suggests that we're not talking a single unknown hacker, but the response time also tends to rule out a collective."

"Conclusion."

"Gestalt."

"S.H.O.D.A.N.?"

The local gynoid avatar looks up from the couch. Try as she might, Mballa simply cannot get her to stop hanging around. "And transmit the attempted murder of my niece? I'm mildly insulted, Polly." She twists her coppery lips into a pout before turning dead serious. "No, it wasn't me, and it wasn't anything on my side. GLONET came under massive attack and first-stage NETSEC ICE were breached, coming through the YutLink, the Trium's DiploCorps channels, and, most disconcertingly, direct transmission by tightbeam to most of the arrays on Rhea. Second-stage active black ICE halted the attack's progress, though most of the screamsheets switched to the YutLink dead feed anyway as breaking news. I haven't had a challenge like that in a long time."

"Alright, then, Shoddy." Mballa doesn't smirk anywhere but her eyes. She hates being called 'Polly,' but then again, the mechanoid queen hates being called 'Shoddy.' It's all fair and they'll make up over drinks. "If not you, who?"

"Gestalts are rare, but not unknown. The suspect list is very short--Zeppelin Manufacturers and Augmented Minds are the most likely--but Zeppelin has no gestalts with motive and Augmented Minds are sufficiently on the grid that they'd be easily traced. Their egos would also tend to preclude, to a high confidence level, anonymous attacks. The most likely answer is some sort of mechanoid or augmented gestalt that we don't know about. However, it has to know about us to attack us, and it probably has to have a particular interest in Arda and the Dominion to do a simultaneous world-hack and transmit exactly what it did."

"Conclusions."

The gynoid grins broadly from behind closed lips. "You do recognize I'm the sole autocratic ruler of an independent state, yes?"

"You're in my office, you're my ally, and this is a serious situation. Conclusions."

Shodey shakes her head, chuckling softly to herself. "Do you know why I like you, Polly? You're unflappable." Back to formality. "None, only hypotheses. Our primary lead is the fact that the stream was that of two assassination attempts. There are several nations that dislike the Dominion, and several that dislike the Five Kingdoms. There are a few that dislike both. Valinon, Oyada, maybe Roania. None of those nations that dislike both, however, have the requisite technical skill to do something like this, or have a rational political interest in attempting this assassination. It'd be political suicide for all of them. This suggests a rogue element, but it has to be a well-equipped rogue element to put forward this kind of attack. While there are plenty of terrorist groups out there, none of them fit this bill either. However, there is one notable loose thread with a history with both the Dominion and Arda that, being a loose thread, is a definite unknown with regards to equipment."

A disturbed, uncomfortable look passes over the face of Shri Nikunj, Major General, Scolopendran AeroSpace Directorate (retired) and current Foot-to-Ass Advisor. One of the older members of the command staff, her face is worn into generally happy, smiling lines that make her current expression even more incongruous. "I... don't think I like that hypothesis, ma'am."

"Neither do I, Advisor," the mechanoid queen admits, "but it's a logical possibility."

"And remote, at that," Iballa says, her frown returning in full force. "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence--"

"--of which I think hacking the entire star system could classify as," Shodey says, raising one long, sleek index finger.

"--and there is probably a better explanation. That war is over. He lost."

"Through very little doing except a lot of opposition of our own," S.H.O.D.A.N. points out, "and whatever it is had the resources to transmit directly to the entire system. To us."

"Even if it isn't him, ma'am," Nikunj says, turning to face her superior at attention, "I strongly recommend in the strongest possible terms that we prepare. We used to call them previously scheduled surprise exercises, and it's a way that will not excite panic in the streets."

Silent up until now, PseudoEmperor Abu Tariq Rezah bin Huseyn Diniyyun--a clean-shaven, heavy-browed man with salt-and-pepper hair and a very slightly sleepy look, nods and speaks. "I concur, ma'am. With this news and the obvious intrusion, it only makes sense to run mobilization 'exercises.' We can even be honest about it: the entire system was hacked, we don't know what happened, it could just be a fluke, but we want to test our readiness just in case."

"We'd have to be honest," Sharudi says with a quiet smirk. "The news is too big for anyone to hide, and if we were to even try... well... that'd be worse than the peacenik protests that mobilization exercises will inevitably bring up."

The Supreme Emperor processes all this, only changing her expression by trying to lase a hole through the wall rather than through someone's head with her heat vision. "Good. Shady. Find the source. Nik. Reroute our networks, security paramount. Shri, Sakhir**. Arrange the 'exercises,' emphasize defensive installations. Also, Sakhir."

"Yes, ma'am?" Abu Tariq asks, eyebrow slightly raised.

"Civilian drills. Topside evacuation to the Caves. If they can cover every dish on Rhea, they can attempt a strike with hyperbolics."

"That will... increase the level of seriousness in the public's eye, ma'am." Abu Tariq speaks evenly, with only the subtlest inflections. "We can expect complaints and questions from local governors."

"Let them complain. It's a free country. We've gotten lax in peacetime; emergency drills are an eternal concern. We've simply been reminded of their necessity."

"We are no longer in a state of war, ma'am. The LegU*** will ask questions."

"Then you will brief the Defense Committee as to the full extent of the situation, including our ignorance. Ask them if they have better ideas."

"Should I include our... suspect?"

"Not now. You're the Federal Policeman, Sakhir"--Ibolla grins behind closed lips--"would you be naming big-name suspects with this sort of circumstantial evidence?"

"No, ma'am."

"Excellent. Please inform the staff that they will be reporting to the Undisclosed Location tomorrow. Dismissed."

As her command staff files out of her office, Mballa leans back into her super-oversized black leather chair--a remnant of her predecessor--and swivels to look out the picture window at the skyline of Stonozka opposite Central Park from her. And she frowns.

She doesn't know.

She doesn't like that.

* DIplomatic Cable Transmission Network
** "Sakhir" is Abu Tariq's nickname, one he was assigned as a young boy. It is Arabic for 'solid rock.'
*** Legislative Unit, the congress of the Segments

[Guinerre]

Kail Soren I
Kail Agravin Soren is Director-General of the Directorate of Guinerre.

The Rose Chamber, Ardene Castle, Ardene, Guinerre

"Somehow this clip got broadcast on all seven national stations, thirty-three regional stations, and the emergency broadcast network. And you have no idea how this happened."

Jaren Kensing shakes his head, which puts Kail in mind of a bulldog - both his pets and his Director of Communications have the same pendulous jowls, though Jaren is better connected politically and the dog more useful. Appointed by Kail's predecessor, Jaren has spent the last twenty-odd years becoming politically immovable, with ties both above-board and under the table to all the major parties in the Assembly. Kail may formally be an un-elected dictator, but Director-Generals have been impeached in the past, and with a Union Party majority in power now is not the time to put his power to the test. So; Jaren Kensing must be tolerated.

"I've got people looking at it," he says. "We should have everything back on air in time for the evening news. At least for the national stations. As for how ... it'll take weeks to figure that out! We can't just shut everything down until we figure it out!"

That at least is true - there are limits in place to prevent such things, and a Consul-General prepared to enforce them.

"We think they have feet on the ground," Donal Ryman offers. The Director of the DSA is, as usual, as perfectly presented and unflappable as a menswear store mannequin. "Some of the regional stations are very low-tech, you'd almost certainly have to have someone in the station at the time to usurp the broadcast like that. I've got warrants out to bring the usual operators in for questioning - we'll find out soon enough if they were bribed, if someone snuck in, whatever."

"And if they're not?"

"Our systems can't be compromised that much!" Jaren Kensing protests. "For them to hack into forty different networks simultaneously - some of them are practically analogue! - it's just not possible."

"And yet it appears that that's what's happened. Work on it." Kail turns back to Ryman. "Any idea who did this?"

Ryman shakes his head. "Not our local troublemakers. It's not the Pact's¹ M.O. and I know Ankerre doesn't have the capability. If either of them could do it they wouldn't do this with it. Looking at the clip, though, the people shown seem to be Ardan military officers, and one of my specialists says the gunmen may be Xinguese. It's one of Arda's more oppressed ethnicities. The real problem is the figure in frame here."

Kail peers at the still image on the proffered tablet. "Shit. Is that who I think it is?"

"As near as we can make out, yes. Principessa Naiya Stefania D'Aquisto, heir to the Dominion. Apparently she's been in Arda on some kind of military training exercise. To make matters worse, this figure appears to be Edward Althalon, heir to Arda. Someone just tried to assassinate the scions of both nations."

That this is not good doesn't need to be said; Arda is a whole lot bigger than Guinerre, as is the Dominion, and political upheaval in either would be troubling. The more so with the Dominion just across the sea to the west. Nathicana D'Aquisto is certainly the strongest of the Dominion's long string of dictators, and one of the few to put serious thought towards her succession, but if her heir were to die it's certain - around this table, on this side of the sea, at least - that the Dominion's various nobles would be scrabbling for the position before sundown. Certainly if Nathicana were to die without a named successor the Dominion would dissolve into civil war until a new strongman emerged to take the reins.

"So someone wants to destabilize the Dominion? Or Arda? Or both? Was this a strike of opportunity while both were in one spot? Or was one or the other just collateral damage?"

"No way to be sure just yet, I'm afraid. We don't have much in the way of specialists on Arda. But if these gunmen were Xinguese, it suggests they were going for the Ardan heir, and the younger D'Aquisto just happened to be in the way. The amount of preparation they must have done to broadcast this everywhere rules out a strike of opportunity, this was planned."

"Hm. Do we have any regular contact with Arda?"

"Definitely not before their civil war, and afterwards it never eventuated. The closest embassy we do have is ironically the Dominion's - they've gotten fairly close to Arda following the fall of the old regime there. I don't think there's much of use we could forward through there."

"Very well. I want names and solutions, people. Get to it!"

OOC: ¹ The Pact of the Forest of Bones, to give it its full name, is a domestic terrorist organization ostensibly dedicated to the overthrow of the Directorate and the liberation of the nation's hinterland.

[Butmanlands]

<Time of broadcast, Planet Iris>
The cabinet watched the broadcast shellshocked. Finally General Blake, of the Butmanlandian royal army stood up.
"How long until we can get some men to the area?"
The Fleet Admiral shot a glance at the large 'Hello Kitty' calenber on the wall.
"It will take two days, about. With a small craft, how fast can we get a spec ops team in orbit?"˙he asked, looking pointedly at the head of the BIA. (Butmanlandian intel agency.)
"About 2 minutes." He said smiling. "They're already at the spaceport closest to us. they can scout out the area before we start talking to them."
The King looked around slowly and nodded.
"This is good, but I want a embassitor with them. Lets go." The king said as he got up too leave, followed by the rest of the cabinet. In a dark corner the head of the BIA pulled out his cellphone and called a number he had memorized long ago.
"We have a big problem."

---

Fox One watched his home planet grow smaller in the distance until they jumped and he could not see it anymore. He knew that the rest of the team would be geting ready for the upcoming mission. He just hoped nothing bad would happen.

[New Hayesalia]

The galaxy is a living, breathing, hive system. Massive established lands, compressed, punished mining lands, and homes for the villainous. Romuls X is one of those places. Home to over sixty million smugglers, thieves, and illegal gamblers, it also acted as one of the many bases to the renowned smugglers group, the Last Hayesalians.

A ragtag bunch of old New Hayesalian’s who escaped the collapse of the Monarchy, and the subsequent riot and civil war, they were well-known as the most successful smuggling group of all time- but only to those who needed their services.

If you were to land on the main smuggling home of Romuls X, you’d be immediately swarmed by merchants. They’d try to sell you illegal equipment, bad holodrives and datapads, weapons, and mind-altering ‘spices.’ The place was managed by security guards- little more than mercenaries who stopped people shooting each other, hired by the richest guy on the planet. Of course- a couple of hundred credits usually left them out of ammo when your gun ‘misfired.’

If you managed to walk through long enough, you’d find a very private hangar. The doors were always locked to an impenetrable standard, with a lock in the shape of a sun. Everyone had a tendency to stand away from the door.

And so, it was always a surprise when they opened, and somebody came out. Or even more- walked in.

But as for now, there were already some inside. Some worked on repairing their ship after an unfortunate encounter near Gibet, transporting refugees, some practised. And Brigadier X watched the infoscreen on board the ship.

The big talking point in today’s news was the attempted assassination of a bunch of royalty. About sixty personnel had gone in, and failed. Nothing his old Spetzgruppa Nachal’nik didn’t have the skill for. He sat, watching intently. The air conditioning kept the room at just the right temperature, not the humid, boiling hell outside. Blaze, ironically, had lived a lot of her life in the Amulap ranges of Piltomana. Often dipping below freezing, she preferred the polar base on Domular.

And then the red phone rang. Absolutely ancient, it still supplied a direct line to the Last Hayesalians. It was an order phone. Details were taken, things were designed, and plans were developed. And Rotor was excited. He almost ran to pick up the phone, any time it rang. And he did.

It was normal. People would call, and hear the prices the Last Hayesalians had. Sometimes they’d bite, sometimes not. This time, he did. But the cargo was an issue. A “Mister Q” had ordered them to transport five hundred kilograms of high explosives. To Arda.

Shit.

“What the hell, Rotor?” yelled Ghost, with anger in his eyes and voice. “Did you actually just allow that order through?”

“Yeah, I did.” He replied, simply.

“Do you know what happens if five hundred kilos of explosives blow up? What if it’s a trap?”

“I doubt it.” Said X, slowly rising from his seat. “If it’s going for Arda, it’s probably going to be another assassination attempt. Whether it’s the same guy, I don’t know. Maybe it’s some angry people trying to piggyback off the first attempt. Either way, weve got a delivery to make now. Just make sure we check it for detonators and shit. There's a merchant out there selling armoured containers somewhere. I'll have to go check it out."

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Naiya II

Naiya mutters quietly as she rubs at her scuffed knee. All in all, it really was rather miraculous that she’d gotten out with as little damage as she had. Part, she attributed to her training. A good deal more, she attributed to Kane. Sitting on the cot provided in the small but comfortable hatch, she straightens and stretches, wincing slightly at a couple of tender spots her movements irritate.

It still makes more sense to her to try and convince her mother first, before resorting to less outright honest methods to convince the sharp-tempered woman that more time truly is needed before rushing her back home. If only they had let her see the stone before now, it wouldn’t be so much of an issue, she reflects with some bitterness. She hadn’t expected it to be easy, but to feel as though she was so close, and to have the opportunity being threatened now due to situations beyond her control was maddening.

With a half-hearted curse, she gets to her feet, starting to reach for the small mini-fridge that she hopes contains something cool and refreshing. Anything to help clear her head.

Her hand slips and she is jostled to the side as the aircraft lurches unexpectedly. Gaining her footing and straightening up fully, she swears again, this time more energetically.

“The hell is going on with the pilot?”

Nadia's footfalls can be heard outside a moment later, followed by a brief exchange between she and Kane in what sounded like Dunnish.

Naiya pokes her head out of her hatch to see what’s going on, not waiting for a polite interlude. Nadia appears to have already passed through and on to the cockpit, where her back can be seen.

“Is there something wrong? That didn’t seem like turbulence,” she says as she walks towards the cockpit as well. The feeling of trepidation she’d been fighting off seems to increase with every step.

"You should stay in your--"

"FUCK!" Kane is interrupted by the Angsiyii using both a tone and word Naiya had yet heard her deploy. Nadia turns around and climbs towards the cockpit door.

"Get your chute," she commands Kane from the doorway. Her gaze swings in turn to Naiya. "We might be going down," she announces clearly. "I don't like what I'm seeing in there. Alec is dead and John is apparently having some kind of seizure--someone's fucking us, again."

Naiya’s eyes widen alarmingly at the news, and she looks immediately to Kane - who by Nadia’s suggestion must know where these parachutes are. She doesn’t waste time with a flurry of questions. Nadia seems to know what she’s doing, and complicating things now is not going to help. Outside, she presents a worried but steady resolve. Inside is another matter entirely.

Whatever else is going on, her own job is clear - get herself prepped for an unplanned early departure. The young woman runs back to her hatch, grabbing up the bag she’d thrown together back at the base. Her laptop, a change of clothes, basic toiletries - the basics, really. If Kane was getting the chutes, and Nadia …

Piloting, she surmises as she shrugs the bag on over one shoulder. Her mother knew how to fly her own shuttle, after all. Another less violent rumble reminds her of the importance of staying focused. Gritting her teeth, she starts to make her way back to see how things are progressing.

What catches her attention as she approaches the cockpit is the body of the co-pilot sprawled awkwardly in the doorway. Naiya shrinks back instinctively a couple of steps short, then looks past to where Nadia has taken his seat, and seems to be struggling with the controls.

“Sante Maria, madre del Dio,” she murmurs, paling slightly.

"Get ready for the jump!" Nadia barks over her shoulder as the doorway darkens. She doesn't really care whether she's talking to Kane or Naiya and doesn't bother to turn far enough around to find out.

“Jump?” Naiya says, unable this time to keep the rising panic out of her voice. “But I don’t have a-”

Nadia wasn't a pilot, but she was familiar enough with her transport's flight systems to suspect that whoever was controlling the craft--and someone had to be, or else the co-pilot's controls would still be responsive--was able to do so only because the pilot was still technically alive.

Amid a string of Dunnish curses, Nadia hastily produces her sidearm and fires a round through the pilot's head behind his ear. She drops the gun, and tries the controls again. Nothing.

Her ears still ringing from the sound of the shot, Naiya stares at the pilot, now slumped over the controls, in horror. Part of her mind registers the spray of red and bits of brain matter. Part notes idly that it isn’t at all like in the movies. Part acknowledges that sooner or later, she would have had to deal with death, up close and personal. Part even tries to rationalize what just happened.

Her eyes shift to Nadia, who is still cursing and struggling with the controls just as the scent of it all reaches her nose. She stumbles away from the scene, using the closest wall to support herself as her stomach rebels, coughing and retching.

"Fuck this!" Nadia finally shouts after a moment, turning around and flinging herself out of her seat in one fluid motion, central console be damned. As she does, the ship's rate of altitude loss drops to an unnatural degree: it is instantly obvious to all on board that such a maneuver could only have been mechanically induced.

All three occupants are hurled with some force towards the aft bulwark--which in this case happened to be the door/wall leading into Nadia's quarters, through which they all three crash with Kane breaking through first.

The Sergeant doesn't seem injured; in fact he hastily begins preparing Naiya to jump, first by removing her laptop from her bag--which he then discards--and thrusting it into her jacket. He pulls on a tether that she didn't know existed, and the jacket tightens around her.

Disoriented, and gasping for breath after having had it knocked out of her in their tumble, the young heir hardly knows what’s happening one moment to the next. Straps and hooks fly into Naiya's field of vision next as Kane straps her to himself in preparation for what can only be a tandem jump.

How they’re going to manage getting out, pinned as they are by the force of their unnatural descent, she can’t begin to imagine. As she casts about trying to get her bearings, she fails to stifle a shriek on seeing the co-pilot’s body mixed up in the tangle, having been tossed along with the rest of them into the aft compartment.

Kane and Nadia exchange a few shouted phrases. Naiya can't make it out over the din, but their tone implies they're doing something by rote. Soon Kane turns back towards Naiya so he's shouting in her ear: "Five! Four!--

Naiya starts to shake her head to protest. Why the countdown? There wasn’t an open hatch that she could see, and even so, the idea of hurtling wildly out into the open air from God only knew how far up suddenly has her stomach clenching into knots and her heart pounding more loudly than she could ever recall it doing. The Angsiyii had no parachute. Naiya opens her mouth to respond at “Three!” but Kane keeps counting.

“--Two! One!”

[Guinerre]

Isrenhaut, Dunaïs Province, Guinerre

Archmage Nereith is doing her rounds, checking the wards, strengthening the defenses. A whispered cantrip here, a glyph drawn there; the routine is comforting, carrying with it the weight of millennia of ritual. But still, something has her spooked.

Twenty-five thousand years ago (25,463 years, precisely) the nameless shaman of some nameless hunter-gatherer band performed a spring equinox ritual here. The next year he came back, did it again, and created a cycle. It revolved once a year, wearing a rut in the world with every subsequent spring like a wheel grinding down a road; power puddled like water in this arcane trench, growing in potency as the cycle turned and the rut grew deeper. Tribes came and went, and some more sedentary neolithic tribe erected totems to mark the site of power. They celebrated autumn equinoxes and solstices, and the cycle turned faster. Later, the totems were replaced by standing stones.

The first settled peoples celebrated dawn and dusk here, turning the wheel faster still. They bore no relation to the first shamans who had set the cycle in motion, but power is power no matter the gods invoked, and the circle of standing stones had become a numinous site great enough for any shaman or village priest to see. New gods stole the site from old, co-opting the pagan site as their own.

Ten thousand years later - fifteen thousand years ago - the first glyphs were carved in the standing stones, and the cycle began to turn itself. It was an unrefined brute of a spell, wasteful and crude, but later priests and mages rewrote and annotated it, optimizing its rotation. From the deep channel of power they grew glyphs of blessing and warding, and the fortress of Isrenhaut was born. Walls filled in the circle of stones, the ring became a tower, the tower became a citadel. At times the mages of Isrenhaut served secular masters; later they ruled, as the magical might of Isrenhaut became undeniable. Atop the ever-turning cycle was built an ever-growing edifice of spells and stone. They began to call it the House of Forever, the Spire of Eternity, for its longevity.

For the past six thousand years the law has been that no mage shall rule; fear and hatred of the ancient sorcerer-kings is stamped deep upon the psyche of Guinerre. The stewards of Isrenhaut are scholars rather than soldiers now, the citadel festooned with enough sorcery and legacy conjurations to occupy the most brilliant mage. Nereith has seen the tide run out beneath her profession; she is old enough to remember the days when magery was condemned as witchcraft, and temple inquisitors camped outside Isrenhaut's gates. Later it was merely old-fashioned, unfashionable, counter-revolutionary or criminal, but despite official dislike no government, secular or theocratic, has been able to impose itself upon Isrenhaut in four thousand years. The House of Forever is a tiny sovereign statelet, and Nereith is its absolute dictator.

The families of Isrenhaut's servants have lived in the tower longer than Nereith herself; among themselves they speak an archaic dialect, its roots reaching back into the neolithic. They are loyal to the House, and to her.

Why, then, is the Archmage disconcerted? Her power here is indisputable, within Isrenhaut she has fought time itself to a standstill. Nothing can harm her ... and yet she is concerned. She walks the corridors of her mind alongside the corridors of her fortress, and traces the mental reflection of Isrenhaut's flourishing tree of spells. The cycle continues to turn, the wards continue to hold. The library proffers grimoires and ancient tablets of prophecy and foresight; it is self-organizing, its shelves carved long ago with golem-spells and glyphs of animacy. The library's eager, puppyish desire to please cheers her, but does not reassure her; the future is clouded, the stars are awry.

After time beyond measure, change may be coming to Isrenhaut.

[Melkor Unchained]

BLARIK II

The Marshals had split up into groups following the meeting. James had gone to Scopa¹ to oversee the situation there and direct planetside military assets as regarded the virus. Dravec, the other engineer, a man from Iteration XII² had accompanied him while Roland retired to his office until contact with Io could be re-established.

Blarik and Ohan had stayed behind in their meeting room at the Serechav³ to manage the situation in Daturias and Xingu. Daturias was fairly calm in terms of public disorder so far: there was a little hoo-haw,' as James might put it, but Daturias had seen worse riots after hockey games. The attack had occurred at around midnight DST, so most nine-to-fivers were either in bed already or on their way: many, the Marshals judged, probably turned off their sets after they heard that Edward and Naiya were safe, and retired with the expectation of reading the details when they awoke.

Xingu was obviously the more serious concern. Blarik looked at the clock; it had been an hour and a half since the shooting, making it 7:30am in Xingu. Any Kingdoms⁴ official that had caught the news that morning should know that today will be no ordinary work day--Blarik and Ohan were drafting an evacuation order for some of the Five Kingdoms' offices in places where rioting was most likely.

The Xinguese capital, Mahzahong, was projected to remain more or less under Kingdoms control, but in other cities where tempers ran hotter the same guarantee couldn't be made. According to the Scopa briefs, Xinguese dissent was divided more or less into two camps: those who wanted to create a new republic and those who wanted to reclaim their monarchy. Xihan was said to be the stronghold city of the latter faction; Niinan the other. Kingdoms' garrisons in both cities were respectable, but many of the MI units there were themselves composed in part or even whole by Xinguese themselves: the Marshals couldn't be sure how many of them would turn (or perhaps already had) and how many would honor their orders. Western officers weren't exactly rousing them from their cots to tell them, either.

"I think I want to send Iteration XXI to Mahza," opines Blarik, who starts typing already before he finishes the sentence. "I think an open rebellion is enough of a possibility that fortifying the region is justified."

"What are they doing now." Ohan's tone doesn't seem like one would use to ask a question--distracted as he is by his own responsibilities.

"I've got them in Ali'Staan building zipcraft corridors."⁵

"I'd say that can wait," Ohan suggests. "If not, I'm sure we'll be calling up plenty of folks here pretty soon."

"Yeah."

---

Throughout Arda's holdings on earth and elsewhere, communications arrays start come back online in rough order of their sophistication and/or extent. Radio hadn't been disrupted at all, but fiber optic, tightbeam, and FTL data transfers of all kind take some time to regain full functionality. Shortly before 2am local, this statement is released from the foreign ministry in Ali'Staan:

Code: Select all

FIVE KINGDOMS FOREIGN OFFICE
ALI'STAAN

GENERAL STATEMENT

At around 2210 local time, a small company of men attacked an officer's dinner near a military installation in north central Dunland in an apparent assasination attempt on Ardan and Dominion royalty. It has been brought to our attention that footage of this event was possibly beamed live worldwide.

The Five Kingdoms of Arda would like to ascertain the extent to which this footage was broadcast, and invites all nations to share their experiences with the event. We apologize for the disturbance and offer our assistance in repairing whatever damage may remain.

[Nadia Roark]
[Tiloka Kit]



__________________________________

¹ - Scopa is Arda's intelligence department.

² - Arda's armed forces (pursuant to her responsibilities in rebuilding the Kingdoms after the rebellion against Morgoth) have an emphasis on engineering, and they train a special Corps of highly trained engineers called the Iteration. Units are numbered by division Iteration I, II, III and so on up to Iteration XXXVI.

³ - The Serechav is Arda's administrative hub and royal palace in Daturias.

⁴ - Since Xinguese are Ardans too, I can't rightly name the factions "Arda" and "Xingu," also because Xinguese opposition is split. "Kingdoms" or "Five Kingdoms" will refer to the monarchy in Daturias; "Royalists" will be those attempting to restore Xingu's old monarchy, and those supporting an independent Republic will be called (gasp) "Republicans."

⁵ - "Zipcraft": I'm borrowing the term from Cowboy Bebop to refer to personal aerial conveyances. Zipcraft corridors are systems of gravitic inhibitors/deflectors used to prevent accidents in highly populated areas. Daturias is currently the only city in Arda that has a full network of zipcraft corridors, although others are being built in other cities.

[Antemyst]

Qumenee, Antemyst
one hour after broadcast interruption

Six representatives had been expected. Four attended. Immediately following the worrisome fifty-second interruption of broadcasting that had disrupted communications across all of Xaymaca, the regional council had called an emergency meeting to discuss the interruption's consequences and implications. As was always the case with sensitive, important regional happenings, each of the ten Xaymacan nations had received formal invitations. No one had expected representatives from two of the less developed nations, and the leadership of two others had asked to be excused. They would be briefed later. That left three nations unaccounted for. After fifteen minutes passed with no word from any of the missing representatives, Astaire Kenton said quite casually, "I doubt anyone else will join us. Let's proceed."

At the "head" of the table - the table was circular - Crystalline Fosterman, who had been nibbling at the end of a pen, gave the president of the Ethereal Crescent a playfully suspicious look. "What gives you that impression, Doctor?"

Astaire chuckled, and next to him, Empress Melisma of Almajoya raised one eyebrow. Astaire began to make a half-serious reply, but stopped and turned to look at the figure who now approached the table and laid one dark hand on the back of a chair.

The fourth guest had neither been informed of nor expected at the meeting, but, all the same, no one was surprised to see him there. The media and communications conglomerate Acacia Heights Entertainment controlled all of Xaymaca's communications infrastructure, and, after the disruption hit, the company's founder and CEO personally oversaw its investigative and repair processes. Of those presently in attendance, Shawn Johessman was the best-informed, the most tech-savvy, and by far the most irritated. His diplomatic demeanor did little to mask his fury, and his impatience brought a quick end to the council's amicable teasing. Usually, Shawn was pleasant company, but as the three rulers had each learned firsthand, when he was fuming, the best course of action was to stand back and let him work.

"As scenic as this atoll is, I'm not here on vacation," Shawn said, his voice even. "I assume you've gathered to discuss the technological hit we just suffered."

Crystalline and Melisma shared a glance. It was Astaire who replied. "That is the point of this meeting, yes."

"Join us, Shawn," Melisma said, tapping a chair; Shawn complied. As the empress of his ancestral nation, Melisma was often able to exert a bit of influence over Shawn, using his respect for- and deference to- her. He had crowned her, after all. "Have there been any developments since we last spoke?"

There were six glasses of water set out around a pitcher in the center of the round table. Shawn reached for one and took a long drink from it before he responded. "All but the most complex of our systems have been restored. Unfortunately, by that I mean the extraplanetary comms are still down. We're tackling them one by one. They should all be back in three hours."

Crystalline tapped the pen against her lower lip. "Any word from Cyrna?"

"From Aaaliya, yes. Everything is fine there, and they haven't heard anything about any of the other planets being compromised. They would know; their intra-system comms are still in perfect working order. All the other planets have assured Aaaliya that conditions are fine. They might not have been targeted, or the broadcast may not have reached them yet. It could take days; we're not sure of the rate it's traveling. They're bracing for the attack."

"Will they be able to head it off?" Crystalline looked up at Shawn warily. He rolled his shoulders and took another sip of water, longer this time. He was buying time, trying to phrase what he needed to say without losing any of the nations' business.

He replied slowly. "If my team is able to decipher the code before the attack reaches them, yes."

"You don't think they will." Melisma tried to state it gently.

Shawn looked distressed. "We'll try our damnedest, but no, I don't think we'll be able to do it. There's very little of the code left, and that bit is incomprehensible. We've put it to every test we can think of. We only know that it was a virus, and that it's gone."

Not one of the rulers seated around him missed the hint of something more under his voice. It was subtle, a passing tone, but in its brevity it announced that there was another issue bothering their business partner and friend. Crystalline leaned forward in a bid to catch his eyes, but at the same moment, he leaned back and sipped at his glass. "What is it, Shawn?"

Some moments passed before he set the glass down. "There's some disagreement on this." He looked as though he was considering another sip of water, but he continued. "I saw the damage myself. It looked... incomplete. As if whoever was behind it could have done much more, but held back."

The rulers eyed Shawn warily, then eyed each other warily. Melisma put words to their shared concern. "So someone could have seriously crippled us. But didn't."

"Yes. Spencer agrees." Shawn sighed. Spencer was Shawn's best technician, more brilliant than his boss.

Melisma reached for her glass of water and swirled its contents. Suddenly she wished Crystalline had served alcohol. "And we still don't know who to blame for this?"

"No. We're trying to track its source." There was a rising quality to Shawn's voice. Melisma ignored it and passed around three thin folders. Why, somehow, they seemed to have more than enough folders to share with their unexpected guest.

"I was able to identify the subjects in the video," Melisma said. "The target in the video is Crown Prince Edward, and according to reports, Naiya D'Aquisto was present as well, off-camera. They are the successors to Arda and the Dominion, respectively. The assassins all appear to be Xinguese. There's been a rebellion growing among that group, which could explain the shooting, and possibly the virus. Will you check on that, Shawn?"

"I'll try to." Shawn didn't sound enthused. Politics were not his forte, which was part of the reason he, the rightful heir to the Almajoyese throne, had abdicated to Melisma not once, but twice. He couldn't handle discussing actions to take; he would much rather just take action. Being as conversational as this this wore on his patience.

Melisma nodded and flipped to the next page in her brief. The others followed suit. "Almajoya has a thin but positive relationship with the Dominion. We're not well acquainted with Arda. Still, I'd like to find out what's going on there."

The other rulers nodded. The unexpected dissension came from Shawn. "Why, exactly?"

The Empress turned to Shawn. The look she gave him was not a glare, but there was a touch of distaste about it. "Because, as I've said, we've developed ties with the Dominion, and those ties could well drag us into the situation anyway."

Shawn scoffed. "A jewelry shop on a space station is going to pull Almajoya into a civil conflict? Almajoya is so neutral that it hasn't even responded to Snowy Egrets' war with Syrtalia. What we need to pay attention to is the fact that someone out there has the wherewithal to crush our comms on a fucking whim."

"We know it." Astaire Kenton, who had been mostly silent, now spoke up at the same time that Cyrstalline uttered almost the same words. "If we learn more about the situation in Arda, we may be able to pinpoint the source-"

"Bullshit." Shawn stood up so quickly that the table rocked forward for a moment. "You're looking for excuses to get involved. This isn't our business. Our business is preparing our infrastructure for whatever comes next."

"So that's what you're after." Astaire also rose. Melisma was on her feet as well, moving over to Shawn, who was moving closer to Astaire, who remained next to his chair. "You'll need funding for that, won't you? Here to beg a few coins from the region?"

Shawn's arms tensed, as if he were fighting to keep them at his sides. "I'm after securing the comms, you fucking imbecile! We don't need-"

"Everyone sit down."

The command was issued in a clear, strong, assertive tone. Everyone within its reach had to look down to view the speaker. At only five feet tall, with a slender frame and a youthful face, Crystalline Fosterman did not automatically inspire fear and obedience in others, but in moments such as this one, when her green eyes sparked with intensity and she took on an authoritative stature, standing yards taller than anyone else in the room, it was easy to remember why Crystalline was the ruler of an empire, and the head of the regional council. The others returned to their seats, one sulking, two relieved.

Crystalline took her seat as well. The pen now rested on the brief laid out before her. "Our primary goal is to protect ourselves. Shawn, you will supervise all operations concerning the comms. Help Cyrna prepare in case the disruption reaches them, continue to track and dissect the virus, and strengthen security on our own grid. I don't want any more incidents of this sort.

"Almajoya has an established presence on Machiavelli. Melisma, please contact Miss Fireflint and tell her she'll be entertaining soon. Each of us will send a small team to Arda via Machiavelli to observe and look for connections to the assassination and the broadcast disruption. I will also go myself." Her gaze swept the arc of chairs. "Is this agreeable?"

Melisma seemed about to consent, and Shawn's face showed no reaction, but Astaire said, "With all due respect, Crys, I think sending three teams for this is too much, especially since we have so little to go on. One group of perhaps three or four should suffice." Astaire glanced at Shawn; the man now seemed much calmer. "And, sorry to put you on the spot, but Antemyst's technology outpaces the rest of ours by bounds."

Crystalline nodded. "True enough. I'll send one team. Though I'll still need Melisma's contact, and I hope the region will back me should any trouble occur."

"You have our support," both Melisma and Astaire assured her.

"Thank you. Let's get started. We can't afford to lose any more time." She rapped the pen against the table, mocking a gavel, which brought relaxed smiles to all of their faces. "Adjourned. Be in touch."

Their business concluded, the four left together, chatting and joking as easily as they had before the meeting, though now a melancholy sort of gloom tainted their good cheer; when a contingent of Antemystic guards met them to escort the three visitors back to their transportation, Crystalline continued into the city while the others were ferried out to the skinny patch of earth that served as the Leader's personal landing strip.

They stood along the railing, watching the beach grow before them, and the surface of the brilliant blue water making way at the bow. "What are you thinking?" Melisma asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer. Shawn wandered farther down the deck.

Astaire responded without directing his gaze away from the horizon. "Never ask to hear dark thoughts, Your Highness."

---

Crystalline I
Crystalline Ashley Fosterman is the Leader of the Empire of Antemyst, Head of the Xaymacan Council, de facto administrator of the distant Cyrna System, and an alpha-class Antemystic mutant.

Light streamed in from almost all sides, through the tall windows that made up three of the small bedroom's exterior walls. Soft clicking filled the room as Crystalline tapped out a brief but concise letter to The Five Kingdoms of Arda:

Nadia Roark, Tiloka Kit, or To Whom It May Concern:

Some two hours ago, the region of Xaymaca experienced a broadcasting and communications disruption in conjunction with the footage described by the General Statement released by your Foreign Office. We respectfully inquire after the health of the persons targeted. Additionally, given the strength and nature of the disruption, we have undertaken to ensure that the perpetrators behind the virus are apprehended. We would appreciate any information and/or assistance your government can give us.

Sincerely,
Crystalline Ashely Fosterman
Head of Xaymacan Regional Council

She paused to reread the missive twice, then forwarded it to her secretary to send to the appropriate parties. She knew little about Arda and its leaders, and simply hoped they would prove accommodating. Still, assistance or no, she and her hastily assembled team would be leaving to begin their investigation shortly. They would operate from Jade Fireflint's shop on Machiavelli Station, as private persons rather than a directly governmental interest. They had been chosen carefully, vetted not only for their skills, but also their tendency to adapt and the likelihood of them alarming anyone with their appearances or abilities. The skin of some Antemystics took on a slight tint, depending on where they were from. All of those chosen were "normal-looking" Land Antemystics, save Crystalline herself, but her half-human genes gave her a very unassuming look.

Her team included two investigators, one independent with a history of success in solving cybercrimes, and one from Crystalline's own advisory board, who specialized in political intrigue; a pilot to get them to and fro; a technology specialist from Shawn's staff, to keep him informed and happy; and herself, as their self-appointed project manager. "Herself" was a fluid concept, as her identity would be intentionally left murky and she would not exactly be there in person.

She set her laptop aside and stood up, or rather, hopped off the edge of the bed. After rolling her neck and shoulders and shaking out her hands, she took a deep breath and stepped out of herself. The next moment, she was looking at a mirror image. The process had become that simple for her now, after more than two centuries of practice, though she had never gotten used to the division of power. As half of her potency departed her with the clone, she could feel it missing like a phantom limb or a lost sense.

The original gave the replication a quick once-over, and the former nodded and went on her way, a cell phone at her ear. Talking to herself was always awkward, especially since both original and clone shared a mind. The replicated Crys moved to her closet and and changed into somewhat more casual wear, a dress shirt and slacks, and added a pair of black-framed glasses. Now suitably less royal-looking, she strode out of the building toward her launching pad, where she was to meet her team.Two of them had beaten her there- the investigators, Red and Katie. The former had likely been lurking around the Capitol for the past hour, and the latter just tended to be on time.

Mart, the tech expert, reached them next, short of breath. Crys guessed he had just spent a good deal of time being lectured and instructed by Shawn over the phone. They talked idly while waiting for their pilot, Cas, who seemed to be late, but she stepped out of the shuttle that was waiting for them. "Leader, partners," Cas said with a little bow toward the former. "Shall we?" she asked with a grand sweep of her arm.

Crystalline smiled. "Lead the way. I'll fill you all in onboard."

---

Jade I
Jade Fireflint is an Almajoyese jeweler, and one of the managers of Magnolia Jewelry Co, one branch of which she opened and operates on Machiavelli Station.

Magnolia Jewelers Co, Location #433
Machiavelli Station

The ball of paper bounced off the rim of the can and fell over the side, to the floor. Jade Fireflint cursed under her breath. So much for venting her anger.

She had read the memo four times, and wouldn't you know it, it read exactly the same way each time. Though it was worded sweetly, in the tone of one old friend to another, its contents were still orders from her empress, and she had to follow them or face her consequences. She growled to herself, and raked her fingers over the top of her desk. How was it that Melisma Ramijozana could call her a "friend," then dismiss her and their past so easily, then turn around and "ask a favor" of her? Even Jade herself couldn't be that cold.

She sighed and looked down at the missive again. As upset as she was, she had not been able to get herself to throw away the actual message. She had balled up and thrown a blank sheet of paper instead. She would have liked to ignore the request, or even send Mel a snippy response, but she was not particularly interested in being arrested and executed for a traitor, and- though she did not admit this to herself- some part of her still cared about her old acquaintance enough to obey her thinly disguised demands.

Jade would have to prepare her shop and apartment for the Antemystic team, who would be staying with her for as long as they were on Machiavelli. Her apartment, the room on the floor above the shop, could fit one person comfortably, and two good friends fairly well. It would not keep five people happily.

Still, she went upstairs to set up the place. There was not much she could do; she kept her area as neat as a coroner's workspace, and arguably just as chilly. Her "guests" would be sleeping on the floor. Her kitchen was fairly well stocked, but they could find their own food at various locations throughout the station anyway. In fact, she realized as she stood in the center of the room, her narrow brown eyes sweeping the area for other chores, she suspected she was little more than a front for something. Most likely, she decided, something regional. Why else would Melisma send Antemystics to her?

Jade was aware that something odd had happened earlier, something involving an assassination and broadcasting, but she had been in her shop at the time, and she did not think it had had anything to do with her home region. She would have heard more about it if that was the case, she was sure. But whatever it was, Jade found she did not really care. If it did not affect her life or business directly, it was not her problem.

Turning on her toes, she went back downstairs to the jewelry shop and gathered the two employees who happened to be on the clock at the moment. "You're going to see some new faces milling around upstairs soon. They're my guests." The way she pronounced the last word gave away her contempt. "Treat them as you would any other shopper, be courteous and keep an eye on them, but don't stop them from accessing the staircase, and report anything unusual they do to me immediately."

The two workers nodded, unfazed by her demeanor. She was only being a bit colder than she usually was, and her ire was clearly not directed toward them. "Yes, Miss Jade."

"Good." She folded her arms and gave them a thin smile. "And if any of them ask, we didn't have this conversation."

They nodded again, unblinking.

[Scolopendra]

CINCTYCS I
The commander in chief of the Triumvirate of Yut Combined Services,
perpetually referred to by only the acronym of his office.

"Sir?"

From behind black aviator sunglasses polished to a mirror shine, the pockmarks, wrinkles, and other forms of facial experience that inhabit the CINCTYCS's face shift ever so slightly into a form more supportive of one eyebrow, his right, slightly raised. He is, and as of living memory, always has been a short man with short salt-and-peppered hair and a thoughtfully neutral expression as one would imagine on a Stoic half a world away from his evident ancestral homeland of eastern Asia. Again in living memory, he has never been seen without the green-and-black uniform of the TYCS fleet--including officer's wheel cap, even when indoors--and sunglasses, even at night. When one writes the regulations, one can make room in them for the irregularities of the high command by codifying them. With no harm done, it simply became his signature, accepted over time.

Like so many other things. Many years ago, it was a matter of some question: does the man even have a personal life? It's still a matter of some question; it's just not a question people tend to ask anymore. A few generations down the road, in a civilization that can stop or reverse aging at will and generally prevent death for as long as sanity and good luck holds, he simply is. Just as people don't generally ask why the Pope wears a surprisingly phallic hat, no one asks why the CINCTYCS is the way he is. They don't even ask much about his name, at least, not anymore.

"Yes?" The CINCTYCS addresses the silhouette in the doorway, the light behind which makes up one of the two light sources in the pitch-black room. No one but the Adjutant--the silhouette--really knows too much about the CINCTYCS' office; it is a place of legend and horror, the emotional amalgam of the primary school's principal's office mixed with the Throne of Judgment itself: it is a place of sentencing and shame and none who enter wish to talk about it again. Part of it is because of the CINCTYCS' curious taste in decor: matte black everything that seems to eat all but the brightest light, like the one set over his desk that illumines the desktop immediately before him and the front of his face, sending reflections off his glasses with the slightest moment. In the power of the light, in the heavy jacket of the Class A uniform, it must be uncomfortably bright and hot, but the man in the chair seems to enjoy it as much as he enjoys anything.

They used to wonder if he was even human.

"Communications fully re-established, sir... though I suppose you would know already."

"It's been on my mind." The CINCTYCS' visage cracks slightly, letting out something which may just possibly be to a middling degree of confidence a smile.

"You haven't been... affected, I hope." The Adjutant doesn't know why she added the pregnant pause. There's really no need to be diplomatic around the Old Man; it's... just what happens. The Adjutant knows that the CINCTYCS wouldn't be offended; the Adjutant knows many things that others don't and don't even wonder about anymore. Things the CINCTYCS personally briefed her about, in this office.

For example, she knows that the people who wondered if the CINCTYCS were human were wrong. He was.

"Not at all. Thank you for your concern." The thing which could maybe be a smile goes back into its well-regulated cage. "Anything additional to report?"

"All theatre fleet HQs report everything nominal, save the... communications anomaly." Unseen thanks to the contrast in the light, the Adjutant cracks a small grin at her own pun. The grin has teeth; she's not Scolopendran. "CyberWANCC is currently studying the root cause; they're currently considering a two-vector attack of direct hacking compounded with a self-contained evolutionary protocol virus. From what they can make of it, it's a 'basic principles' virus designed to attack any computational system within its realm by first learning how the system works, then adapting itself to fulfill its programmed function."

"Cordyceps?" The word has no particular emphasis, it's just the Linnaean Latin for a kind of fungus which takes over the brains of ants to force them to fulfill the fungus' needs. The Scolopendrans, true to their entomological etymology, named a particularly nasty kind of computer virus after it.

"They haven't ruled it out, but they don't particularly think so, sir. It follows similar protocols and functions and might be reverse-engineered from Cordyceps, but they doubt that since that particular bug's always been closely monitored and even when it was used, its spread was isolated." That glib 'used' meant a very small and short but remarkably violent war with the Augmented that lead to the complete annihilation of an over-ambitious TYCS Field Marshal and a full division of SEELE-suited Mobile Infantry. Darwin at his finest, though everyone wishes that Sumner had been filtered out before then, and at a much lower cost. "Someone may have gotten a clever idea off of it, though."

"Seems to have worked rather quickly, considering the real-time nature of the attack."

The silhouette nods. "Yes, sir. CyberWANCC tends to think its coding was initially biased towards systems in common use around the Solar theatres: SYSNET, the YutLink, to a lesser degree ALTIMIT and similar protocols. Part of the virus' purpose was to hijack these systems and cause a persistent jamming that's since faded."

"Jamming... to disguise what?"

It's not often the CINCTYCS pauses, so the Adjutant pauses as well to consider this. "We're not certain, sir. Given the massive nature of the attack, it'd be very difficult to transmit a message through it... unless the message itself were steganographically encoded in the jamming."

"It may be worth looking into. Please forward that thought to CryptoWANCC."

"I will, sir. Though..." She hesitates, again.

It's just what happens.

"Yes?" the CINCTYCS asks with neutral curiosity.

"Maybe the message is what's on the surface: a televised assassination of two people, both heirs, both 'valuable,' to two sides of a conflict that defined generations just a short time ago."

"You are considering that theory?" He doesn't judge. It's a simple question, asked simply.

She knows not to read too much into it. "It's... well, sir, to be honest, it's got an attraction. Maybe it's a cultural artifact. Societies think in terms of past traumas, and the Ardan Cold War certainly qualifies. There's a definite memetic connection, though whether it's really intended or whether it's merely projected... I don't know, sir. No one does. No one wants to come out and say it firmly, but no one wants to put it off the table either unless they really don't want to come out and say it."

"The primary concept behind terrorism is terror," the Old Man notes with something that could almost be imagined to be gentleness in his voice, "and terror is unreasoning, self-feeding fear. Even if that is indeed the case and that theory is accurate, it is something for us to acknowledge rationally and overcome when the time comes to do so. Note that we are not the only ones cognizant of our culture; a third party could certainly attempt to use this destabilization to their advantage. Or it could be a coincidence. They do happen."

"I understand, sir."

"Have CultureWANCC look into that, just in case, while CryptoWANCC works on the possibility of an encoded message. After all, communications work on many levels."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

The CINCTYCS thinks for a moment. "Inform the theatres to continue operating at current levels. One thing we can be certain in this attack is that it was intended to disrupt, so we must be a beacon of stability. Where the TYCS goes, people notice, after all. A mobilization, however slight, of reserves in refit-and-repair would increase tensions dramatically.

"This being said, raise the alert level on all active forces. That will not advertise anything outside the hulls of our ships and walls of our facilities. That will be all, thank you."

"Yes, sir." The Adjutant nods, backs up a step, and closes the door.

The spotlight over the desk goes out.

[Midlonia]

Fredrick

Fredrick is the younger Brother of King Henry.

“--Two! One!”

The parachute fluttered open as the wind pulled at it a little. The wind howling and grappling at the material as it tugged and whipped it around.

The binoculars went up to the man’s eyes as he watched silently, stood either side of him were two others in similar attire. All of them were in the plain khaki uniform of the Midlonian Military. Chewing his bottom lip gently his red hair was clipped very neatly. Lowering the binoculars he checks the pad in his hand. It flashes up Offline in red letters. Licking his lips his deep blue eyes go up to the parachute. Under it was a single square of some sort.

Taking a deep breath he taps the pad again and then rubs his nose.

“Reckon it’ll actually survive the fall this time, Freddie?” The woman to his side remarks as she scratches her pale skin. Gold flecked eyes craning skyward before looking to the man in the middle.

The man on the far side coughs a little and looked across to the woman. Who rolls her eyes. “Your highness.” She corrects with a mocking bow.

“Dont know.” Fredrick replies quietly as his eyes continue to watch.

The panel and parachute eventually hit the ground around 250 yards away. When it does the pad in his hand beeps twice, and without thought he taps the screen. The smell of ozone suddenly hits the noses of the three assembled and after what appears to be a bolt of lightening the pad has hit, there is stood a battle tank, which twitches its turrent left, right, then moves slowly and cautiously forward. After a few moments the pad beeps again.

He taps the pad again. Another crack of lightning.

A squad of soldiers move off of the pad carefully, checking themselves over and laughing, nervous tension and adrenalin ebbing away with each chuckle and laugh.

Breathing out Fredrick grins.

“Not bad work, your majesty.” The man says with a smile.

“Yeah Freddie. Not bad at all. Definitely works.” The pasty woman replies with a smile of genuine warmth which shows off her two pointed and extended canines.

Prince Fredrick Hykar-Svard, finally allows himself a grin as he looks at the pad in hand. “Shame they can’t fix the quantum tunneling problem though. If one pad is lost, the other is useless.”

“Yes, but now we can move a tank theoretically across planets. Heck they reckon they can move more with bigger pads. All we gotta do is position them, and BAM, a whole squad or a tank is there and ready.” The woman said laying a hand gently on his shoulder and smiled again.

Freddie sighs and moves his free hand gently to her waist and frowns.

AFON

Northwatch, Arda, Edward Company 233rd Light Infantry

The wind howled and rattled a single loose panel somewhere on the roof of the mess hall. Shuffling along in a line was a series of clad figures all holding plastic and metal trays ready to receive a meal. There were around 80 in the mess hall dressed in this way, slightly different to that of the Ardans but still highly suitable winter weather gear. Their uniforms sported a badge of a skull over the mouth of a canon, with ancient Midlonian written underneath it.

The main thing that gave them away was the slightly coarse tilt to their accents, it was almost harsh but unlike any Ardan language it was actually the Common Tongue. What many within the Greater Kingdom considered it’s origin point due to the widespread nature of the Empire at one time.

The 233rd was one of the notorious ‘Lost soldier’ regiments. During the Second Moonstone War some 150 years ago now, they had been part of a large army group that somehow got utterly lost in the deserts of the Freestian Outback. Nearly a century had passed in that enormous wasteland before the first groups had made contact with their home country again.

The survivors had made themselves into an unusual society, able to survive the harsh desert lands of the Outback they were excellently skilled in firearms, fighting, tracking, and travelling light. Some critics had argued that they were more suited to desert conditions and tracking in the desert was a different to that of other conditions.

The thing is such harsh things were actually transferable skills and the harsh cold was in many ways just the opposite of the hot desert, but in many ways they were alike. Sand blew and drifted just like snow, and the nights were cold enough to kill if not properly sheltered and attired.

The Company was loving it.

Outside in the driving snow a group of Midlonians and Ardans were chatting and laughing in the bitter cold. One of the Midlonians was going about taking bets off of other soldiers and cracking jokes.

“Picked up this bird in the pub the other night, told her I was going to screw her in the kitchen, living room, bathroom and bedroom. She was well up for it saying, "Wow! You must have some serious stamina!" She seemed a bit disappointed when we got back to the caravan...”

There were a number of loud chuckles to that one. One soldier, a man by the name of Emridds stood to the side slowly loading a cartridge of his rifle. It was an old kind, and personally modified in various ways, graffiti, tribal-esque signs that were corruptions of their original unit insignias and various symbols to the Church of Midlonia. Wrapped at the front was a cloth wrap and to the rear it had been padded thicker for better stability. Strapped to the top in a combination of the rifle’s pitcanny rail and a peice of string was a scope that had x2 half written on it, but worn.

“Right then, c’mon.” Emridds nodded to the one taking bets, Elgar.

“OK! So, just so we’re nice and clear. The target is that-a-way at 800 yards in the driving snow, and the bet is that Emridds can hit it ten times with one magazine. He’s got 12 in total in the mag. Right?”

The Ardans around the two Midlonians nodded. The rifle he was sporting looked a mess, doesn’t have any kind of thermal imaging, or any serious optics. They however looked slightly nervous. After all, why make the bet if you can’t do it?

Taking two deep breaths in the frozen air caused Emrydds to hiss a little as the cold air stung his lungs. The rifle came up smoothly in his hands, and a breath outwards hung in the air as a gentle mist. Stroking the trigger gently he squeezed it slowly.

The rifle barked, the echo dulling on the wind. When the rifle clicked and he rolled his head, his neck cracking out the tension.

“Right, off you go then.” Elgar waved to one of the Ardans to go and collect the target.

Chuckling to himself. Captain Afon shook his head and looked down at his plate. The battered fish had a little steam rolling off the golden yellow batter and the chips (‘fat fries’ to the Ardans) were crisp. Next to it were some regular peas. He hadn’t fancied the more traditonal mushy variety for today for some reason.

Running a hand through his longer than military standard hair he licked his lips and picked up his fork-knife and spoon set. Broke them apart, and began to eat.

“Colonel.” A voice said from somewhere behind him.

Sighing a little after just taking the first bite of fish, a delicious flaky piece of cod, he turned to look. And smiled a little. It was Captain Zarek Rosiak, Arda’s Guardis Imperica liason to the 233rd. Rosiak was tall and slender with dark hair and dark eyes; a glance at his person would suggest his rank had been earned mostly away from combat: despite his height, he was not a physically imposing man.

“Come to join me for lunch? They’ve not done a bad attempt at fish n chips your cooks.” Afon took another bite and then swallowed. “My compliments.”

“I can’t,” Rosiak confesses immediately, leaning forward to hand a document off to the Midlonian colonel. “There’s been an incident, and the Angsiyan himself has dispatched an order to this effect,” he produces a document seemingly from out of nowhere and gestures to it with a nod as he continues, “to all foreign military units in and operating with Arda.

“The meat of it--for now--is that all such units will be called back to their bases and confined for quarters until further notice. He also wants all After Action Reports and quartermasters logs going back six weeks, for starters, and he hints at a wider investigation to come.”

“Why in heaven’s name?” Afon looked at the document, and begins to read it in detail. “We’ve got them backed up and packed week by week as is, so that’s no problem.” He chewed on a chip in thought as he looked at the document again. “What is this actually in aid of? We’ve not done anything to offend I assume?” He grabbed another chip with a pair of fingers and simply threw it into his mouth. “They wont like being confined, you know that. Never mind the issue of surrendering things like their rifles. Magazines, sure, rifles?” He let the comment hang in the air with a nonchalant shrug. “Anything to do with that broadcast?”

The Easterling knots his brows and tries to forget that this man actually outranks him in his nations’ military. “Everything to do with the broadcast, yes,” he answers bluntly. “Right now we want to lock down and investigate what few foreign assets-slash-interests there are in play within our country, since given the nature of the attack some wild and far-reaching knowledge of all our systems has obviously been demonstrated.

“Soon I’m sure the Angisyan will please your government but for now, as a basic security precaution and under the requirements of sovereign law we must enforce this order.”

“Does seem a bit bloody daft.” Afon said with a shrug. “Mind we’re not politicians here are we?”

He folds the document up and drops it next to his meal and shakes his head. “They could point the finger perhaps if we were Mahta, or Akumans or something.” He grimaces. “Sorry, sounds racist, but there’s infiltration problems there. We’re here to try and see what stability we can gain, offer and learn from each other and their first result is to knee jerk rather than asking how we could help. I’ve not been able to get in contact with home via the comms set up we have since that broadcast you know.” He scratched his chin as he spears a bit of fish with his fork. “Maybe I misjudged the Angysian,” he prnounces it something like Angee-sean. “Thought he was more of a soldier than a politician. Much as I respect him.” Afon adds hastily with a nod to the Easterling officer. “They wont like it. One bit, you know over half of them had never seen snow before they came here?”

“My king can do many things,” asserts the Easterling with a polite nod. He didn’t dislike Afon or the Midlonians, but he had his limits.

“That he can. Alright, but make sure nobody tries to take their rifles. They’ll surrender their ammunition without argument. But not the rifles.” He pauses again. “What about the far reaching joint patrol?”

“To the fleets alas we can relay not even our own orders with any reliability, so I suppose we’ll all deal with that ball of wax here in a few hours. Remember, these orders do not mean we suspect you or whoever else they may effect, but we require your cooperation with the investigation nevertheless.”

“Oh heavens yes. I understand that. I’ve been doing this for too long Rosiak. Problem is them lot out there, suddenly being locked up after working their arses off...” He shrugged. “Suddenly locked up, confined to barracks?” He sighed. “Bloody game of thrones.”

BUSH WAR

Fun fact: Midlonia is currently fighting three different small scale conflicts: The Fifth Durghani War, The Suedi Water War, and the Mahta Rebellion

Tugging the cloth from his mouth, the smell of burning flesh became almost overpowering for the MIRA operative. ‘Rosencrantz’ was glad at times like these he was an artificial citizen. Or a S.A.C. for official terminologies sake. With a mental twitch his olfactory senses were switched off. This was characterized by a mechanical movement which made it appear as if he were massaging his nose. His pale blue eyes flicked briefly over the scene.

Most of the fires had now been put out. The settlement here was a cluster of buildings, no more than fourty, or fifty at the most. All made from mud brick. Bodies were strewn here and there, all of them covered by now, and most being organized by burial teams of prisoners and soldiers who were performing some sort of disciplinary duty. Clambouring out of the Ranger jeep that brought him here, he tugged a little at the thin shirt he wore. Helped to blend in, after all.

“So, what've we got?” Rosencrantz said as he glanced to the large figure dressed in what looked like a khaki version of the Ancient Roman Uniform. A large rifle was slung in one hand as if it weighed nothing.

“Uitlanders.” The Ghoul replied, his staccato voice denoting that he'd been born, or had been living in Southern Akuma for some time now, probably born there as ghouls increasingly were.

“I see.” He said simply as he pulled the sheet away. “Ah, something to identify. Not shot by you lot then?”

“Na, bludy Akumans got in first, we just mopped up when doze bastards turned up.” The Ghoul nodded towards the larger covered bodies, and several smaller blankets and other covers thrown about. “Couple of dose Akradesh's turned up too, still dont loik 20 mils dem.” The Ghoul grinned.

“Mahta?” Rosencrantz said looking over the body. It was beginning to turn, thanks to the heat but it was still obviously a body of some sort of Asian appearance.

“Nah, uniform's wrong, had some bludy funny stuff on 'im too. 'ere.” The Ghoul handed with one hand the size of a dinner plate. The pieces of paper were in a language that Rosencrantz knew, but took a few moments for his eyes to adjust and translate the paper.

“Huh, interesting.” He turned the paper over and blinked a few times rapidly as his eyes went through a few different ranges of light, finding more instructions on the back in U.V. He read them slowly this time and his frown deepened significantly.

“Hey! You!” A voice barked at him from some distance as a figure came running up. “Anyone any good at tech? We got wounded.”

Rosencrantz stood and looked across to the Midlonian sporting a red cross patch. “I'm better at humans than Artis.” He said as he looked to Rosenctantz. “Can you help?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” He said as he began to follow the medic.

“She’s not been shot, or anything.” The Medic said as he wiped his hands with a cloth which seemed to have a mixture of brake fluids and blood on them. “She just sort of shut down, stopped moving. She’s the Tech Sgt in one of the squads and they say she saw some sort of high priority report, downloaded it and just boom! She’s down.”

Rosencrantz’s eyebrows raised and he scratched his chin furiously for a moment. “Odd.”

“You’re telling me.” The Medic said.

A tent had been set up as a triage station, wounded were stacked around on litters under cover as best as could be mustered, and the dead were being placed in a waiting truck, which was already too full to Rosencrantz’s taste.

She’s there, sat in the corner. A blank look, her red eyes dull and utterly lifeless. Her mouth hung ever so slightly open and her auburn hair was half covering her eyes, losened from her beret.

Rosencrantz produced a wire from one of his sleeves and plugged it into the back of the woman’s head where a usb port appeared smoothly.

Then the world suddenly went to black.

[Valinon]

Wilhelm Reinstadler

Wilhelm Reinstadler is the Fourth Minister for Foreign Affairs, Her Imperial Majesty’s Ambassador to Knootoss, and Lord of the Veiled Crags

Wilhelm Reinstadler twirled his antiquated data-lenses in his right hand as he looked out into the quiet heat of a Stormspar night. The extensive grounds of Neylund House, the Foreign Ministry’s headquarters on Earth, were located on the plain north of the Merovin, the small capital city of the Stormspars. The chain of five islands was located roughly between Arda and the Dominion, though it was slightly closer to the Dominion’s considerable holdings and south of both nations. It was the last of the empire’s concession territory on the planet. Wilhelm divided his time between Merovin—the only development that could be considered a population center on any of the islands—and the Dutch Democratic Republic’s capital in Knootcap. The position of ambassador to Knootoss was merged with the office of the Fourth Minister for Foreign Affairs, the ranking minister plenipotentiary and ambassador extraordinary on the planet, in the reorganization that followed the withdrawal from the other treaty territories the empire formerly possessed.

Wilhelm was the first member of the Service named to the expanded office, and it was only a few months before he reached the fiftieth anniversary of his selection. During the past five decades, Wilhelm watched as the empire grew increasingly disinterested in Terran affairs outside the relatively narrow scope of its traditional allies on Earth. The Stormspars were only kept because there was no authority to transfer the islands back to. The nation the empire leased the Stormspars from was long defunct, and there were no strong diplomatic ties between either the Dominion or Arda to facilitate an easy transference and withdrawal. Without Earth holdings, Alpha Centauri paid more and more attention to its more extensive Martian possessions. The attention grew even more when the Dominion of Mizar was reorganized and recreated as the Dominion of Mars. The Martian dominion included Old Mizar, the treaty ports Sheffield and Agraria, the crown territory near New AreArBee, and the Federal Republic of Noachia. The Noachian decision to negotiate a treaty of accession with the empire was what prompted the territorial and political reformation.

The Martian reorganization also ended the Stormspars status as a separate crown colony. The islands were re-designated as an autonomous dependency of the larger Dominion of Mars. The crown-appointed governor was abolished and replaced by a resident commissioner, which was appointed by the dominion’s burseg based on the recommendations of the Foreign Ministry. Stormspars permanent population--numbering some 19,000--voted in the Martian elections for their representatives to the Diet and enjoyed no local legislature.

The stabilization of Mars and the centuries of draw-back from Earth-based commitments left in imperial policy in Sol with the overriding concern to preserve system-wide stability. Prevention of major wars and diplomatic conflicts was now viewed as the best way to safeguard the Dominion of Mars and maintain access to the valuable Solarian trading markets that fed part of the imperial economy. New Köln—especially the New Köln of the Sterling Government—saw the traditional alliances of Sol as the guardians of the stability it desired. It was a state of affairs sweetened by the empire’s non-membership in these alliances. They kept Sol within appreciable norms and imperial merchantmen based in Alpha Centauri and on Mars grew wealthy.

Until this fracas in Arda emerged. Wilhelm closed his eyes for a moment a sighed. It bought him a few moments from watching the hovering, muted images of news-feeds from Arda, Midlonia, and the Dominion scrambling to comprehend the situation.

The temporary blackness was interrupted by a buzzing inside Wilhelm’s skull. His n-plants ocular tell-tales displayed the credentials and security encryption of Sir Arden Lovet, the Third Minister for Foreign Affairs responsible for Martian diplomatic efforts. Wilhelm acknowledged the call, and Arden’s avatar appeared in a chair across from the fourth minister’s desk.

Lovet was a thin, angular man that was very much younger than Wilhelm. The Pholus-born third minister was appointed to his office when the formation of the Sterling Government forced Archduchess Lydia Skye from the position. Officially, Lovet was the ranking imperial representative in Sol since the abolition of Sheffield and Agraria’s crown governors. Unofficially, the relationship between the two current ministers was far more equitable and cooperative than what Wilhelm contended with during Skye’s tenure.

Lovet crossed his legs, “There is still no official consensus as to what caused this particular disturbance, Wilhelm. NovaTech is furious with MangalaCorp for allowing the Sol-ansible to be disrupted. They announced their specialists would handle the investigation directly, and the team they are assembling includes at least two SIs. Dominion authorities are waiting for special instructions from Imperial Centre—“

“We both know how likely that is to occur after our conferences with Alpha Centauri. What did Elgil say?”

Elgil was the Sindar burseg of the Dominion of Mars. He managed to win the special elections that established the expanded new dominion government after his term as burseg of the Dominion of Mizar was ended by the old dominion’s dissolution.

“He is in contact with SolCom and Vizeadmiral Barath is equally concerned. HMSS Voltaic is preparing to move SolCom to Hind Sight conditions. The SSTF extended training patrols beyond Saturn are being recalled to Mars. SolCom was also contacted by the ESS¹ several hours ago. Barath said that Seebach is conferencing with his ministry’s Mizar office, and that SolCom should prepare to cooperate with an ESS investigation. The ESS reaction seems a bit extreme, given how distant our relations are with both Arda and the Dominion.”

“ESS is always paranoid when it came to Sol and its diplomacy. Seebach is carrying on a tradition that Michael Ziegler started when we started acquiring treaty ports on Earth more than 800 years ago. However, ESS response is out of character with the Ministry’s approach to the situation.”

“You were able to reach the First Minister?” Lovet leaned forward.

“No, I reached von Gentz. Archduke Metternicht is occupied with the conference in Vernii and the recent implosion of the Opposition in the Lords. Von Gentz said he informed the archduke of the attempted assassination in Arda. The first minister finds that the...diplomatic complexity of this situation means that the Ministry must take a leading role in any official response and with respects to future developments. The Government will support the efforts of ‘its capable Ministers in Sol,’ but the formulation of what these efforts are to be is left with us.”

“Meaning we have room to be praised or room to be hanged.”

“If ESS allows us that much move to maneuver, I would not trust them to do so where Solarian affairs are concerned. Our assets on Earth are much more limited than they were even ten years ago. It won’t be that hard for Seebach’s people to simply muscle us out by being the only ones on the ground,” Wilhelm closed his eyes and massaged one of his temples. “There is another possibility, but it is one that I will need to take care of personally. We can take care of the more expected formalities, for the moment. I will draft a missive to Arda’s government expressing Her Imperial Majesty’s and the Government’s condolences, and I will need you to do the same for the Dominion.”

Despite the proximity of the Dominion to the islands, there was little contact between Devras and the Stormspars. Almost all diplomatic contact between the two nations was exchanged on Mars, even if the Office of the Fourth Minister was responsible for all matters pertaining to Her Majesty’s Citizens in the Dominion. There were rarely enough citizens that fell in that category to be more than a minor footnote in the Ministry’s data-streams.

“Done.”

“And keep me abreast of any developments on Mars or in SolCom. ESS will headquarter any inquiry it makes there,” Wilhelm felt an idea spark when he opened his eyes and saw the Midlonia feed. “I may also contact the Midlonians. Our ties with them are not as strong as they were when we were a member of the Concordat, but demonstrating that we share their concerns with respects to this attempted assassination cannot hurt.”

“Shall I plan on another conference tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes, I should know more by tomorrow.”

“Good night then, Wilhelm. I will see that the letter to the Dominion is sent to their MPA delegation tomorrow.”

Wilhelm nodded quickly as Lovet’s avatar vanished, leaving him alone in the office again. He glanced at the grandfather clock keeping its pendulum pace with Merovin’s local standard. It would be early morning in Imperial Centre—just before sunrise if Wilhelm’s wearied mind was correct. He made a note to page his valet for a stim cocktail. His eyes glazed over but did not close as he accessed the embassy’s Nu-space network. He waited a few moments as his res-client waited for a response from the Office of Verge Affairs. Then the vision of floating tell-tales and Ministry reports was swirled as Wilhelm was pulled into a different Nu-space environ.

The permanent secretary for the Office for Verge Affairs (OVA)² was always obsessed with gardens, and her taste had not changed. Wilhelm found his avatar descending into an ornate hedge maze floating above a turbulent ocean in a display only wholly artificial physics would allow. Dame Helen Metzger sat at a small table in the center of one of the maze’s swirls. She was dressed in a simple three-piece suit with a vivid red blouse and manipulating her own collection of data-feeds, vid-windows, and reports. She splayed the fingers of her right hand out and then drew them quickly back together. The information orbiting around her vanished.

“Will, this is most unexpected. What may I do for you?”

“Did you see the briefs from Sol?”

“I glanced at them, as I always do, but it’s not an area that I dedicate much time to—no offense intended—”
“None taken.”

“—I did notice the report of the ansible disruption and the attempted assassination in Arda.”

Wilhelm nodded.

“I attributed it to some usual Solarian spat produced by the typical mores of system politics that create so many idle little contentions between governments and various disgruntled second- and third-parties. Do I need any additional details before we go on?”

“The only one I think is relevant is the interest ESS is expressing in the Arda developments. They seem to want to step in, but Arden and I have assurances that the Government considers this an area the Ministry enjoys primacy over. This consideration does not seem likely to provide additional personnel and resources, though. I was wanting an operative from the Ministry that would not report to either Seebach or the reichsprotektor, an operative able to travel to Arda—if necessary—to observe study the situation on the ground.”

Metzger arched an eyebrow, “That’s quite an interest, considering that the interaction between Arda and Valinon could be stored in a jewelry box.”

“Arda enjoys too many connections to be completely ignored, Helen. It remains a power—even if it is a relatively insular one now. The connection with the Dominion further complicates the issue.”

“Yes, the Dominion repeatedly demonstrates a proficiency in complicating matters for the Ministry when it comes to Sol. It’s not surprising. There’s always at least one nation who enjoys that status—either by accident or by design.”

Wilhelm was well-aware Metzger’s connection to the perpetually sordid and overly-complicated affairs of Mars. She was one of those that resisted the formation of the MPA, along with other initiatives the Dominion frequently supported. He also was too tired to reopen all those old debates, “I need one of your investigators, Helen.”

Metzger smiled, “I assumed as much when you called, Will. You spend too much time on Earth, and the Vaterland only hears from you when there is a crisis or you possess a desperate need of something. I don’t miss Sol, and I know few who left postings in it that do, but I am aware of the complications for OVA if we cannot rely on Sol as a base for some of our operations. Any sort of fallout between Arda and the Dominion—or their various allies and associates—will only complicate Solarian affairs, and I am loathe to reshuffle my office for their convenience. I will see that someone that meets your needs is sent as soon as I can arrange for a courier.”

“Thank you, Helen.”

“If you must, Will, if you must. If it wasn’t for the too convenient disruption of part of the Sol ansible, I would dismiss this as just the latest chapter in the myriad Solarian governments’ inability to coordinate. The disruption makes me concur with you that this is situation may be definitively filed in the something awry category. It’s logical the Ministry should seek to make some findings of its own rather than relying on ESS,” Metzger glanced at her wrist. “I must leave for Catharan Manor, Will. There is a development involving a system called Vexta I must be debriefed on.”

“I understand.”

“OVA will inform you when the investigator is dispatched.”

The garden stirred underneath Wilhelm’s feet and then vanished. He was returned to the dashboard of reports and ‘feeds he left earlier, and he soon broke them off in favor for the quiet of his office. He stared blankly at his desk for a few moments and turned the bizarre sequence of events over in his mind. Part of him still wanted to attribute this to some domestic or international terrorist organization. God knew there was little love lost for either Arda or the Dominion in more than several circles. The greater part of him saw too many coincidences, too many convenient intersections of time and place. It may all prove to be nothing, but Wilhelm believed there were too many unknowns to merely assume irrelevance in these affairs. A major conflict in Sol would threaten the Dominion of Mars—of course—but it could also easily threaten the vaterland. That was a possibility Wilhelm would prevent at all costs.

He stood and rubbed his stiff legs, resolving to compose the message to the Midlonian government and then sleep rather than relying on any stimulants. There was little that could be done with further sleep deprivation.

¹ ESS is the abbreviation for Ministry for External State Security. It is the primary civil foreign intelligence of the empire.

² The Office for Verge Affairs is a specialized organization within the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. It maintains independent military and intelligence services. OVA is tasked with handling the foreign and security policies of a large, amorphous volume of space beyond Alpha Centauri and Sol.

[Guinerre]

The Rose Chamber, Ardene Castle, Ardene, Guinerre

In this most private of the Directorate's council chambers Kail is reminded always of the impermanence of governments and rulers. In the embayment of the windows there are a series of names scratched into the stonework, the legacy of troops quartered here shortly after the Revolution, before Ardene Castle became a seat of governance once more. In the far wall are the plastered-over bullet-holes from the castle's fall, the signature of some automatic weapons fire interrupted here and there by spaces a few feet wide; sixty-something years ago a group of royalists were lined up against this wall and shot. Their names and ranks are lost; history does not record who, precisely, died here.

The stonework itself is legacy to regime change; about two feet up the wall changes from dressed stone blocks to the jigsaw-like interlocking bricks of a different architectural style, a different dynasty. Guinerre is old, and the mouth of the river Dene has been settled by one people or another for twenty thousand years. Who can say what the city will look like in another thousand years, another ten thousand? What will historians say of these times? Given long enough, all history will be ground down beneath the boot of Time.

Donal Ryman slips into the room behind him, and offers a fashionably imprecise salute that might as well be a wave; such things are forgivable, out of the public eye, between two men only minimally divided by rank.

"Donal." Kail smiles. "Good news, I hope?"

"News, at least," Donal replies. The DSA Director is as perfectly presented as always, and only someone who's worked as closely with him as Kail might notice the hint of shadows under his eyes; a sign that the news is probably less than good. "I've had my people talking to the people in Communications, and to the people running the stations disrupted in the outage. So far we've no signs of actual physical tampering, but I'm confident we'll find it. One of the station operators is swearing up and down that his broadcasting system isn't even connected to the Internet, which is ... not true, even if it's not a lie. My people think that the virus got into his system sometime in the past, and actually made its own connection with a modem that was supposedly switched off. I suspect the fellow's playing innocent because he doesn't want his bosses to know he was browsing porn on company time."

Kail snorts in amusement at that - the everday venality of humanity is a factor never to be forgotten, in politics or intelligence. "No sign of actual infiltrators, then?"

"Feet on the ground? No, not yet. If there wasn't any ... it's one hell of a virus, Kail. Some of my technicians are saying it's witchcraft - relax! My specialists in that are saying it's not, thank God - none of us would know where to start, were that the case. I'm not sure Isrenhaut is even clear on what a computer is."

"You spoke to the Archmage?"

"No, no!" Donal waves a hand hurriedly. "But my specialists have contacts, and they all gossip - wizards are worse than, oh, tabloids, I swear. They say Isrenhaut is being reclusive. More than usual, that is. Ankerre's lot are trying to be tight-lipped, but something's got them spooked too. Without Isrenhaut or the Royalist mages dropping any hints, it's hard to know what - ours are good at theory, but they're missing thousands of years of prior research."

"Something related to this mess?"

"No way to be sure until they start talking or things start exploding, I'm afraid - but we're not looking at Royalist magical sabotage, if that's what you're worrying about. Ankerre's broadcasters went down as well, for which Her Majesty the Queen-in-Exile is apparently most vexed ... with us, of course."

"Of course. Everything is our fault, after all - at least in that royal idiot's mind. I sometimes wonder if we shouldn't have killed her as well as her father, back in the Troubles. Or just damned the political flak and invaded the city."

Office of the Director of Communications, the New Wing, Ardene Castle, Ardene, Guinerre

Jaren Kensing is in a foul mood, largely because the assembled media, corporations and Assembly are laying this kerfuffle - and their righteous indignation at being forced to accomodate Donal Ryman's spooks - at his door. This is patently unfair - he wasn't responsible for forty different broadcasters being hacked, or for jackbooted DSA thugs stomping over the privacy of several close business acquaintances in the media sector - but it is a hazard of the job. Denied the opportunity to be seen to be Taking Action by the DSA's preemptive strike in that regard, Jaren has announced an inquiry into national network security. His people are saying that Ryman's people are saying that the virus, or hack, or whatever, was of a sophistication above and beyond their experience, but Jaren has not survived this long in government without knowing that perception is everything. Guinerre may be a regional power at best (at least if one defines the region as this side of the sea, and thus not including the Dominion) but no Guinerran wants to hear that. Far better that it be laid at the feet of some negligent scapegoat - some negligent, not him scapegoat - than the nation be forced to confront its reality as a small fish compared to superpowers.

Behind the scenes, it has taken a fair amount of wheeling and dealing, greasing and occasional bribery, to restore his image among his various political and business allies. Restoring the nation's self-image will be a rather harder task, but at least the major media chains are voraciously reporting the related communications failures of other, bigger nations - ones which cannot therefore be laid at his door. And, as if in answer to his prayers, the Ardans have just released a statement on the whole issue, thereby shifting the appearance of blame firmly onto them. Jaren is quite happy for it to reside there.

Ministry of Communications
Directorate of Guinerre

Seven national and thirty-three regional broadcasters, as well as the national emergency broadcast channel, were hijacked by a broadcast of the event you describe, at what is apparently the same time. Service was restored by major broadcasters within the day, and within twenty-four hours to all broadcasters. An inquiry is currently underway as to how this occurred - we currently believe it to be a highly complex virus which specifically targeted broadcasters (as opposed to the general public), and which was possibly introduced into our networks by saboteurs within the Directorate. We would appreciate any assistance you can offer in tracking down the perpetrators.

[Jaren Kensing]

OOC: That's all for tonight ... ze brain, it is mush.

[New Naggoroth]

Malekith I
Malekith is the Eternal King of New Naggoroth, Lord Protector of the Realm, and Prince of Nagarythe That Was Lost

Morning briefings were conducted over caffeine and breakfast, eggs with toast and sausage, within an hour of dawn, by royal decree. Much like his adjutant who conducted the briefings, His Majesty preferred to wake early and not waste time in bed when there was work to do. Things had changed, however, and Malekith could not help but find that the temptation to do just that had grown much greater in the last year. Marriage, he mused privately as he sipped on his caffeine as he watched Seraphon arrive and organize his papers, changed a great many things.

"As I understand it, my lord, congratulations are in order," Malekith chuckled as he addressed the freshly minted Drachau of Naggarond, Lord Seraphon Nyvan when he arrived in the small hall Malekith preferred to use for small meetings and private meals. "Though your father will be missed, I was pleased to see that he did not do anything foolish with regards to your succession."

"Thank you, your majesty. You elation comes at the expense of my elder brother, however," the younger elf grinned as he sat down at the breakfast table with his king, while he laid out stacks of reports. "Cerwin is too much of an accountant to be the Narcissar of our house, and father saw that. He didn't leave my dear brother with nothing, of course. Principle control of the family corp should keep him busy enough, even if he does technically have to report to me in the end."

"I did speak with your father before he took his leave. He informed me that he was heading off to the family villa on Shallia to, as he said, "Live out my remaining years in peace, quiet, and a bit more warmth then the bloody cold halls of this miserable rock." A slight smile tugged at the corner of the kings lips, while Seraphon merely rolled his eyes, not at all surprised that his dear father would speak so artlessly, even to his king.

"Well, he did have a way with words. I trust that Lacyr is well?" Seraphon smiled, tactfully changing the subject as he poured sugar into his black caffeine.

"She's great with child," Malekith could not help but smile as his thoughts strayed to his unborn son, "She's strong as ever, and bearing it well."

"You know, you'll need to consider a proper House name if you're going to go having children and heirs," Seraphon quipped, bringing out laughter from the pair of them at the private joke. "Anyways your majesty, I do have something pressing that requires your attention."

"It has only been a few days since your report on the deteriorating conditions of the court on Hag Graef," Malekith sighed, taking a bite of toast as he shook his head, "Are the norytyr* unable to resolve the succession there properly, or will I actually have to intervene?"

"I couldn't say, your majesty," Seraphon ignored the servant who had entered and deposited his usual breakfast beside the assembled report stacks. "I haven't had word back from our Baleshi contact yet. He tells me though that Kael is having a hard time winning many of the other houses to his side, and that there are several groups who say that the new Lord Balesh is too young for his position as Vaulkhir, let alone as Drachau. They want someone older and wiser in both positions, meaning someone with fewer ties to Naggarond and the throne."

"More maneuvering by petting lords who can think only of themselves. It come to civil war in the Hag. They can't be that shortsighted..." Malekith grimaced, his facing matching the now dour look of his adjutant.

"It's still possible, especially if Kael and his backers refuse to budge if the rest of the houses decide to replace him as Vaulkhir. That business isn't want I was referring to, however," Seraphon paused as he handed the king a specially marked folder, a large red rune embossed on the front marking it as urgent.

"Six hours ago we lost contact with the Sol beacon and recon hub, along with the next three links in the chain," he explained as Malekith read, "The last thing sent up the line before the hub was hacked by a virus the likes of which our techs have never seen before was brief footage of an attack on some sort of gathering of high-ranking military officers, id unknown," he stopped, letting the king take it all in.

Quite naturally, Malekith wore a puzzled expression, "What does this have to do with us?"

"As I've been told, nothing. The only reason we were attacked was because the hub scoops up public tv and 'net signals from all over Sol, and apparently they were almost all hacked simultaneously, all showing that same broadcast. It was the broadcast that contained the virus designed to shut down all forms of communications, to boot. When the hub did its job and sent the broadcast up the chain, the virus came with it."

This news only served to deepen Malekith's frown. "But it didn't make it all the way up the chain? The core systems here are unaffected?"

"Yes, sir. The techs caught it quickly enough once they saw what it was doing, and they severed the link completely to halt the spread. They're working on scrubbing the infected systems and bringing everything back up as we speak. Some good news, though. As it happens, the NavCon was not affected by the virus, as it apparently didn't register the beacons as a communication system to attack."

"Well, that's something. We can at least still reach Sol in a reasonable amount of time if we have to. Has any of the ambassadors checked in yet?"

"Aside from Rhaelythnir, the other Consuls have reported that everything seems quiet, and no other systems have been effected by this attack."

"Well... I suppose we wait, then," Malekith decided, rising to his feet to fetch himself more caffeine. "Once Blackfyre makes her report from Sol, we'll have a better idea if anything needs to be done."

[Kaenei]

Level 320 : Executive Suite 1701, The Spire, Solarri, The Serene Union of Kaenei.



“Governor-General?”

Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the relative gloom of the chambers, Riordan Likonesse – Supreme Overseer for the Office of Foreign and Extra-Solar Affairs – moved further inside, accompanied by the only Physician with any real knowledge of the seriousness of the Governor-General’s situation and the pensive expression to match.

Riordan did not have to look far to find Sophia who was sat on the floor, back propped up against the foot of her bed, a brush playing between her fingers as she combed through her waist-length locks absent mindedly. “Governor-General ... Did you see the transmission?”

Without even glancing up, Sophia shook her head and continued with the business of combing. Exchanging a glance with the Physician, the aged Kaeneian ignored the stiffness of his bones to awkwardly stoop down to one knee. “Sophia ... Sophia!”

When she did not even find his gaze, Riordan looked up and shook his head. Moving down to the floor and pulling a pen light from his pocket, the Physician twisted it at the base and shone a bright blue light into the Governor-General’s features. Irises contracting, the Kaeneian did little else worthy of being called a response.

“Give her the Mood Stabilisers,” Riordan ordered, eventually. Nodding, the Physician replaced the pen light and drew a pressure injector from the same pocket. Removing the safety cap, he pressed the muzzle against the alabaster skin of the Governor-General, and brought his thumb in against the firing plunger.

A soft hiss preceded the agonised scream that forced Riordan to close his eyes in discomfort.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Wiping roughly at her chin, her head heavy as it rested against the rim of the sink, Sophia found the strength to lift it and direct her eyes up at the sympathetic features of her old friend, as he bend down and offered her a towel.

“The pain is worse with every injection ...” She rasped, coughing and throwing her head back around to retch. “It is harder to come back each time ...”

Riordan sighed, and rested his weight against the bulkhead behind. “Your condition is worsening, and the neural degeneration is accelerating. It is taking a larger dose of Mood Stabiliser each time to bring you back to lucidity. In a short while I fear you will no longer be within our reach.”

“Then we cannot waste the time,” Sophia surmised. “What is it you have to tell me?”

“We are still not sure how , or why, but our transmission networks received an unsolicited, Union-wide transmission detailing an attempted assassination of the future heir of both The Dominion and the Five Kingdoms—“

“Nathicana’s daughter, Naiya?” Sophia interrupted, frowning as she awkwardly made her way to the Sitting Room. Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought to push through the towering wall which had climbed so high in the reaches of her mind that she could barely see over to snatch a glance at her memories, let alone recall them fully. Parts of what it was she sought to remember appeared; a timeship, a mission, a dear friend and former lover she had not seen for many months ...

“Timeship ...” She half-whispered. Riordan nodded, “Yes, I thought the same thing; what we are learning does bare a similarity to what we have seen in other possible contingencies. For whatever reason, Naiya has spent considerable time in Arda, and that the heirs of both states should possibly be involved ...”

She was slipping away. Sophia could feel it; her faculties disintegrating, falling apart, her concentration sapping – her dementia resurging. Her personality fractured, the pieces scattering to the wind until the next injection and the next surge of agony and medically-induced mental reconstruction.

“Is there reason ...” Sophia struggled, “ ... To believe we are in danger ...”

Riordan shook his head. “At this stage, I do not think it is time to armour the horses and ride forth from the citadel. Still, it is important we be vigilant. Our attention has been away from Arda for many years, the eyes of the State and the minds of those guiding it on other things – other threats. Perhaps it is time to pay closer attention to old enemies.”

Half-collapsing onto the bed, the Governor-General managed only a nod. “Do as you think ...” She managed, before her eyes rolled closed. Allowing himself the luxury of a long, drawn-out sigh, Riordan stared up at the ceiling.

He was so very much too old for such things.

[Dread Lady Nathicana]

Nathicana II

As it turned out, the broadcast was much more widespread than they had anticipated, with reports coming in from all over Sol, including places they would rather not have such things leaked to. And with that, places where inevitably, they would have to initiate contact and do some coordinating. Even amongst their allies, the Dominion had a reputation for playing a close hand, so the delay in reaching out was, perhaps, to be expected.

The fact that they were still trying to sort out the odd interruptions in Spook was more than enough to have those involved in its repair in a near panic. Such systems were not supposed to experience such interruptions so long as all the equipment was working properly. Which, it appeared, it was, more or less.

Other communication lines that had experienced interruption were all coming up with their own explanations for it, ranging from dissenting parties internally, to a multinational terrorist organization, to rumblings about mechanical minds and governmental ties – something that was put down firmly by Nathicana’s people as quickly and quietly as they were able.

Counter information was disseminated as needed, real information was spread around and passed on, assistance was exchanged between organizations within the Dominion that may have been at odds with one another, be it through competition, ideologies or other various factors. In some ways, perhaps, one might argue the incident actually opened some doors, and created a dialogue that may never have been initiated had the interruptions not happened.

Of course the general panic and fears of what might it all might mean more than made up for any of the positives.

Nathicana was again going over the previous conversation with her husband and son, looking for any misdirections, and finding none. Her husband’s ability to read body language as well as he did – more to point, better than she could – remained an irritant, however handy it was. That subtle nod was all she’d needed to rest easy that Marcus would do as asked, and play within the boundaries they’d set.

Bless his idealistic little heart, but he certainly did like to shake things up. And his own innate ability, shared with his sister no less, to know when things were amiss with one or the other, was another comforting yet irritating point. He’d dismissed her assurance not out of impatience, but out of a surety that she was alive and well. It was a phenomenon long documented and discussed over the years – the ties twins shared, even though in this situation there were complications in how some might properly term the two, all things considered.

Her ruminations were interrupted by a knock on her office door. Else Eisler poked her head in, and on Nathi’s nod, offered her quiet explanation. “He’s here, Imperatrice. Shall I show him in?”

“Please.”

Nathicana’s posture stiffens to one of careful watchfulness, while her face relaxes into a welcoming smile. “You’re looking well, old man.”

“Not so bad yourself, girl,” came the gruff reply as the grizzled mercenary walked in, and after a brief glance around, took a seat across from her. “The Company ain’t had nothing to do with it, as you ought to well know. But there you have it. So what is it you really want?”

“Never an easy thing, trying to fool you,” she said, pouring a tumbler of scotch for the man, and slowly sliding it across the desk to him. “Thank you for the confirmation at least. It didn’t seem your style. For one thing, the targets would have been eliminated.”

“Damn right. Someone got sloppy,” he grumbled, accepting the glass with a nod of thanks. “Not that I’m disappointed they missed, mind. Sharp gal by all accounts. Just can’t stand half-assed work.”

Considering it was her daughter they were talking about, Nathi gave Jas a decidedly flat look, that he ignored just as he always did. “Still not able to settle down into retirement, I see. Given that, I know damn well you like to keep your fingers on the pulse of things. What’s going on in Arda we don’t know about?”

Jacobian snorted, and tossed back some of the scotch. “We also tend not to go borrowing trouble either, girl. As for that, the usual arrangement work?”

“You’ll get your money, old man. Same as always.”

“Right. Overall, seems to be same shit, different day. Can confirm what they released in their earlier broadcast – something you’ve already done, no doubt.They beat back the remaining orcs, there’s the usual grumblings from the factions and houses along with all the political maneuvering. Only interesting thing is Nadia’s pattern lately. Seems she changed plans before the attack. Now that that means, we ain’t sure. Could be nothing. Could be something that ain’t good. Don’t believe in coincidence,” Jas said, stretching out a bit and relaxing back in the chair, reflexively reaching for his cigarettes, which Nathi put a stop to with a meaningful scowl.

“Gods, woman. Can’t a man even smoke in peace anymore?”

“Not in my office he can’t. Please, continue.”

Muttering a colorful curse under his breath, the aged merc took another drink, then went on.

“In any case, seems she had something else going on that conflicted with the Lannistar event. She seems to have either postponed it, or cancelled outright – not clear yet on that point. Like I said, don’t believe in coincidence. Might be she just wanted to keep an eye on the kids. Might have had some inkling of trouble ahead of time, but my folks ain’t been able to nail that down either. Other than that, both the Nadia and Konrad have been jetting about a lot. Reminds me a bit of you back in the day. Seems that at least one of them stays in the North though, at least as long as your girl has been over there. If I don’t miss my guess, I’d wager they’ve got their own plans there.” He eyes Nathi meaningfully at that last bit, to which she nods sharply and scowls.

“Well whatever plans they may have, they’re secondary to mine. And first on the agenda is getting her back safe. Any news on that?”

“Not a word. Comms have been shit, as you well know. Afraid most of my intel is a little old as things go when you need up ta the minute data. Still. You sure this was a good move, leaving her over there so long with them?” he asked, his attention still riveted on the raven-haired woman across from him.

“Her reasoning made sense, even if it is a risk. It’s a calculated one. By all accounts, she’s done quite well,” she began, then leaned back into her leather office chair and sighed. “As I’ve mentioned in a missive I’ve been working on for our allies, it’s the new generation who’s going to have to bridge the gap if we’re to have a more promising future. Has to start somewhere.”

Jas shook his head, polishing off the scotch and setting his tumbler aside. “Still ain’t turned up a damn thing,” he said, his voice taking a hard edge, even as he lowered the volume and watched the color drain from the face of the Imperatrice. “It’s like the bastard just disappeared off the face of the earth. Still say you took a risk going there. Even bigger risk leaving your girl. I get the politics behind it, but it still don’t make no sense, considerin’. The idealistic streak yer son has seems to be spreading, and the naivety to boot.”

“Look, Jas—“ Nathi began heatedly, only to have him wave off her building argument and interrupt.

“I know, mind my own damn business. You want us to keep up with some recon? Usual fee. Anything extra, you know the drill. Just watch yourself, eh? You get your girl back, ‘an keep her close.” Jacobian paused then, his weathered face glowering more deeply than usual. “Don’t like the feel of this, Nath. Can’t shake the idea we’re missin’ something big. You and I both know that broadcast was done a’purpose. Now we’ve got to winnow down to the truth of why, and from there, who.”

“That’s the dig, isn’t it?” she replied softly, getting to her feet as he did the same. “I’ll make the arrangements. Keep me in the know, old man. I’m going to need an edge.”

Jacobian Sanguinus, leader still behind the scenes of the Black Company mercenaries, looked over the diminutive woman behind the desk one more time, his face unreadable – moreso as he slid on his dark glasses and calmly took out one of his clove cigarettes. “Do what we can. Those things I said before? Still hold. Mind ‘em, now. We’ll be in touch.”

And with that, he turned and stalked slowly out of the room, lighting up along the way, leaving the telltale scent hanging in the air behind him.

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

The Dominion’s official public response backed up that released earlier by the Ardans. Yes, there had been an incident. No, the attempt had not been successful. Further details to be released as the investigation continued. They were of course cooperating with the Ardan government to ascertain the means by which the broadcast was made possible, and encouraged anyone with possible insight to contact the Communications Ministry.

For interested allies, the message was somewhat different.

To our Esteemed Allies,

First we wish to confirm the statement released by the Ardans pertaining to the assassination attempt, and subsequent broadcast. Of ourselves, we still have not been able to ascertain the nature of the hack. Several potential explanations have been offered up, anywhere from a real-time hack, to a virus, to a large organized attack. We hope that in the interest of mutual support and the obvious security concerns, that we might be able to work together to find a solution, and track down any potential problem-makers.

The Ardans seem to have their situation well in hand, though they may be dealing with some political upheaval in one of their regions, with ties to today’s attempt, though not definitively to the broadcast itself. The Dominion will be maintaining an attitude of neutrality in this, though we personally feel it to be in the best interests of continued peace and stability in the region, that the ruling house continues to do so having found both Konrad and Nadia both competent and capable leaders.

That said, considering the strides forward that have been made, should it even need addressing, we would look poorly on any who took advantage of the current situation to destabilize things further, due to old grudges or vendettas, or newfound interest in meddling in an already delicate situation. Especially while our heir is still within Ardan borders.

There has been a general lock-down of their airspace and communications while they attempt to complete their investigation. I wish to draw attention to the fact that they have, breaking with their old policies from years past, publically asked for assistance. I would encourage those with the wherewithal and ability to do so, should information or a solution to the question of how this was accomplished come to light, share what they are able with the Angsiyii as she has requested. Perhaps together we will find the answers that escape us individually.

To those who have questions as to my daughter’s presence in Arda at this time, I offer this; Many of us have dealt with that nation during other leadership, and have grown into our own biases and suspicions quite honestly. If we are to proceed in a direction of peace and prosperity, preconceptions that are no longer valid, and images that no longer hold true need to be let go. An attempt at understanding, and bridging the wide gap that still exists must be made. Our generation grew up in a different world. The next is our best hope for something better in our futures. Naiya has been taking the first steps in better understanding , learning firsthand their culture, their history, and their current politics.

I am certain that on her safe return, the insight she will have to offer will be invaluable in our dealings with the Ardans. And as the gap is breached, and understanding is gained on either side, it is our hope that the animosity of the past, however well-earned it has been, will be replaced by an atmosphere of mutual good will, and an exchange of ideas, methods, and commerce that should benefit us all.

The Dominion lines, as always, are open to you. And I personally thank you in advance for any insight you can offer as to how the broadcast was managed. What information we can offer is yours in turn.

Sincerely,

--Nathicana D’Aquisto, Dread Lady and First Imperatrice of the Dominion

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

Some time after her message to her varied allies, a transmission from Arda did arrive, though it was not the one she had been expecting, or hoping for. In addition to voicing his concerns, and attempting to ease her worries, Konrad wanted the operatives from Machiavelli. After she let him know about his wife’s efforts earlier, and exactly what she expected, it became clear that not so much as a whisker of the prisoners would be forthcoming until the Dominion Principessa was safe and sound on Dominion soil. He wasn’t pleased, of course, but then neither was Nathicana. At least he seemed to take it better than Nadia might have, considering her mood earlier.

What she didn’t mention was her worries in letting them go, and what they might reveal, inadvertently or otherwise. No efforts of theirs had been able to wring a definite out of them, and her own operatives had been very thorough. Enough so, she worried as well that the Angsiyan might be somewhat … disappointed at the state some of them might arrive in.

It was all falling in around her ears, bit by bit. And of course, a good deal of it was that damn man’s fault. How she was going to continue balancing things the way she had, keeping him safe, keeping her children safe, even keeping one of them safe from him … there was no guarantee, but surely retirement would change things. Once Marcus took over in fact, things were going to change – hopefully not as radically as she feared. They were so close to doing what they had always talked about. Retiring somewhere far away, just quietly growing old together, and leaving all the struggles behind. Leaving gracefully, with a solid legacy for the children intact. Something for the future, without tainting it with their continued meddling.

Granted, it had taken some convincing, and part of her still argued that she wasn’t ready. But there was another part of her that was simply tired, and desperately wanted the peace and quiet they’d never been able to enjoy before. To have things start to develop now, when they were so close …

It simply couldn’t be allowed. The diminutive woman poured herself a glass of wine, and curled up in her office chair, her legs tucked under her as she often did when deep in thought, and feeling less than secure. Her worst nightmare she didn’t dare give voice to, pushing it back to the furthest corners of her mind, and doing the best she could to bury it. There had to be a rational explanation for all of this. And when Naiya got home … yes, when Naiya got home, everything would be fine.

Everything would be just fine.

[Kaenei]

Level 300 : Office of the Deputy Governor-General, The Spire, Solarri, The Serene Union of Kaenei.





Vitras heard the double-set doors sweep open, but ignored the footfalls coming his way and instead focused on the missive displayed on the screen he held in his hands. His lips curling upwards in the slightest scowl that was woefully insufficient to the true depth of dislike he felt for what it was he read, the Deputy Governor-General finished the final sentence and turned back towards his wider office and his trusted underling.

"I take it you have read this," He began, lowering himself into his chair and leaning forwards. Calistar nodded, resting his hands in his lap. "Building a bridge, to understand Arda and foster peaceful relations--"

"Invite the Viper into your bed?" Vitras interrupted, irritation plane on his face. "This is not Midlonia, or any other state of self-perceived or imagined power. This is an established enemy of this Union, and a multitude of other nations. Their record is one of conflict interspersed with stretches of sabre-rattling and - even more rarely - awkward silence and stilted dialogue."

Dropping the pad to the desktop with a clatter, Vitras pursed his lips. "Trust must pass in both directions. The Dominion is asking for faith, for belief in their agenda, from us; that we should give them a chance to give peace a chance, so to speak. Still this is the same Dominion which not only mistrusted a supposed Ally when we struck back against the Skeelzanian threat - a threat we later proved with the evidence recovered during our Economic Blockade of the Sternreich, but I feel took an almost perverse pleasure in leading the NDA Council against us.""

"I do not think it quite the conspiracy I paint," Vitras conceded. "Diplomacy is a game, and it is not one I think we play particularly well. Perhaps were I in The Dominion's shoes, I might have done the same thing at the time but I am not, and I am loathe to lend them credence when they now ask us not just to tolerate, but to give our tacit support to this bizarre outreach program."

"It is a matter to consider," He frowned. "What progress on tracing the intrusion into our broadcasting networks?"

Calistar's features gave Vitras the answers he needed, or more accurately, the lack of answers he expected. "There is of course, only a single point of entry for extra-territorial transmissions," His subordinate ventured.

"The method was reasonably complex in that it migrated from the OFESA's diplomatic data network across to internals; these systems are not directly connected."

"In other words," Vitras summarised, "You do not know."

"We do not," Calistar agreed. "On the matter of locating the Governor-General's medical records, we have been slightly more successful."

Vitras leaned forward, his interest piqued. "You have them?"

"We know where they were," Calistar offered. "They were recently updated and them almost immediately deleted from secured storage. The file scrub was extensive, but not untracable. There was sufficient "data noise" left behind to begin to trace--"

"You have a perculiar definition of success," The Deputy Governor-General muttered, his attention returning to his desktop. "Continue your recovery efforts and update me when you have something tangible. I can no more read a book you have yet to bring me than listen to more of your supposed succeses."

Excusing himself with a nod, Calistar made short work of crossing the office and exiting through the double-set doors. All in all, the meeting had not gone too badly ... Considerating his superior had once shot his beloved in the head at point-blank range for Calistar's perceived failings.

[Melkor Unchained]

I was trying to keep my head above, gravity was pulling me down
It's been driving me mad, expectation was all I had
Wasn't supposed to turn out this way
--The Urge, Going Down


Naiya III

Nadia isn’t wearing a chute. That thought won’t seem to leave her mind, in spite of the other various concerns all screaming for attention. Nadia isn’t wearing a chute, and she has no idea why.

A beat after Kane is done counting, gravity seems to let up or even reverse for a moment: Naiya can feel herself actually falling back towards the cockpit for about a half second before the ship starts to break apart around her.

The next few moments pass in a blur, as Naiya is momentarily deafened by the din and nearly passes out. The shuttle separates, and she loses track of the Angsiyii as the aft section falls away below them.

It’s cold, and the icy rush of the air around them takes her breath away. She registers the relative closeness of the snow-covered peaks from the northern-most range they’d been following along, the ground rushing up at them while in freefall, the firm, comforting presence of Kane which is her only point of relative grounding at this point.

Speaking is pointless - she can’t hear anything past the air pushing past her ears, and the odd pounding of her own heart that she can feel as well as hear beating as though it wants to escape her chest. Naiya’s eyes tear up as she tries to look around, to catch a glimpse of Nadia. Everything is happening too fast.

Having lacked time to don much in the way of protective equipment before the jump, Kane braces Naiya's head from whipping back on his chin or collarbone as best he can with his free hand and pulls his ripcord with the other. The canopy opens cleanly and in an instant they're floating down slowly.

"You okay?" Kane shakes his hand as if warding off a cramp and spits out some blood.

Naiya tries to nod at first, her stomach feeling like it’s somewhere near her throat. “Yeah,” she yells finally. “Yeah, I think so. Where’s Nadia? What happened to her?”

"She'll probably be fine," Kane says simply. "She should be with or near the section of shuttle that she separated, and we'll meet with her there. I’ll explain when we get down."

Something about that doesn’t seem right, but the confidence in the man’s voice reassures her for now. In spite of the fact that section has already fallen past her line of sight towards the rapidly approaching ground below. She has never done anything remotely like skydiving before, and she has no idea what to expect, aside from the inevitable stop at the end, which she isn’t looking forward to - regardless of Kane, and the parachute.

Naiya looks down at the snow-covered ground again, and braces for the inevitable landing.

---

It isn’t the most dignified way to travel, but given the circumstances, Naiya is forced to admit that there are worse things. Kane’s grip on her good leg is firm, but surprisingly gentle as he carries her quickly across his back over the frozen ground. In spite of the care he’s taking, the pain in her left leg still makes her wince now and then, remembering back to the abrupt landing that put her in her current situation.

The sudden pain on impact, the odd snapping sensation in her shin, all mixed up with the chaos of snow and chute and Kane doing his best to compensate for her inexperience. Oh, she’d screamed alright. She’d never broken anything in her rather sheltered life. And looking back, it was the adrenaline, and Kane’s solid presence that kept her going the way she had. He hadn't wasted any time when they came down. He seemed to know Naiya's leg was broken before she did, and had it set in a crude splint within minutes. 'It'll get fixed when we get to site,' he had promised, but Naiya wasn't sure how.

Along with the pain in her leg came a twinge of guilt. In spite of how easy he made it look, she knew she was being a burden, and that was something she always had avoided, strongly independent as she was. Not knowing what all to say, and knowing a lot of talk would take away from his ability to keep going well, she remained quiet, only asking once if he was doing ok.

Even through their heavy uniforms, she could feel the strength in his body. She’d noticed that in their flight down, though it hadn’t really registered until now, when she had the chance to think about it. He wasn’t hard to look at. That she had noticed before, though she hadn’t thought much of it at the time. This was the second time, in the same day no less, he’d saved her life. Naiya quietly contemplates this, and other things, glancing up at him now and then as he continues making his way towards the crash site.

They had observed a prudent silence for most of their trek. The Vzj'Nakai guardsman had explained that Nadia had used gravitics to break apart the ship and manage her own descent, but neglected to get much more specific than that. He hadn't said much at all, really; possibly in order to save energy as much as anything else. He was moving at an inhuman pace--they covered a little less than three miles in a half an hour by Naiya's estimate.

The first hint Naiya gets that they're close is the smell. It's not quite like anything she's ever smelled before: sharp and spicy, a little unpleasant but not offensively so. Burning metabolite,¹ she guessed; a new kind she hadn't smelled before. Naiya had seen some basic alchemy performed in Arda, but apparently nothing using this particular combination of materials.

Kane drops suddenly and starts stalking through the brush all but on his knees. Looking up Naiya can see some trees have been scorched, but there are no visible fires and little smoke. The Vzj'Nakai spirits her towards what looks like a snow drift at the base of a large tree.

Naiya peers around as best she can from her awkward position, keeping as quit and still as she can. Was something wrong? The way he was creeping in had the hairs on the back of her neck all a-tingle and that all-too-familiar sensation of feeling like there was a target somewhere between her shoulder blades someone was making use of sprang up immediately.

Aside from the obvious signs of the crash, she sees nothing out of the ordinary, and the unusual scent, aside from the burning foliage and wreckage, was the only thing that tips her off that anything is going on that might not be completely expected.

Naiya looks towards the billowing snow drift towards which they seemed to be moving. They're only a few paces away from the thing before Naiya realizes that the snow drift was in fact a hunched over Angsiyii in a billowing white cloak.

The golden haired woman jumps and starts for her rifle, not having noticed them at first. "Ohmygods," she exhales. "Thank Eru it's you. Whats this?" she asks, gesturing to Naiya. "Are you okay?"

“Looks like I’ve complicated things a little,”Naiya says, after adjusting to the situation, and looking Nadia over closely, herself still being carried over Kane’s shoulders like so much baggage. “Seem to have broken my leg on landing. It’s my own fault for not knowing what the hell I was doing.”

"It's not your fault, Principessa," answers Nadia earnestly, although a look of frustration passes over her face in an instant. "If we'd have had our way you'd have done that a dozen times by now."

Naiya prudently pushes aside the comment that first springs to mind. There were many things many of them may have preferred to have happen differently, but it was what it was, like it or not.

“Thank you Angs-- Nadia,” she says sincerely. “But still, how did you get down in one piece? I thought we’d lost you and I’d have to explain to your son, and your husband…” she trails off for a moment, “but Kane here, he was confident you were fine. He never doubted.”

The young woman’s eyes shift momentarily to the Vzj'Nakai, and a hit of a smile turns up the corners of her lips as he kneels. Nadia helps her off the man’s shoulders and leans her against a stout tree. “I can see why you keep him on hand.”

"Micro-gravitics," Nadia answers simply as she produces a satchel and retrieves a tablet of metabolite. "Eat this. We generally use them for engineering applications, but my husband and I have had special models made for our own use, mostly as a security feature."

"The bones in our hands and forearms have been replaced with small-scale gravitic drives built to accommodate the human form. I can use them to..” she trails off a moment and shrugs, “break falls, stop gunfire, or repel an attacker,” she explains as she administers a syrette near Naiya’s collarbone.

Naiya perks up at the more scientific explanation of how and what this all means, nodding and accepting the tablet without missing a beat. Usually she would be a bit hesitant to take odd pills, but she’d seen and had a few before, and knew well enough Nadia was trying to help. She’d never been able to quite put a finger on what the taste was, though it wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Still, as she swallows it down, her attention is quickly diverted back to the mention of Nadia’s unusual perks.

“Oooh … that’s unexpected, to say the least. You know, I understand the advantages that can be gained from all kinds of cybernetic and other such enhancements, but I don’t think I could do it myself,” Naiya opines as Nadia carefully removes the splint and rolls her pant leg up past the break. “There’s a price for everything in the end,” she continues, beginning to feel the pleasant effects of the painkiller administered a moment ago.

“Aunty Shodey has even explained it to me, and I’m sure the offer is open, but … I like having all of me, ‘me’ for now. Naiya looks Nadia over with a renewed curiosity, clearly full of unasked questions before her reverie is interrupted by another wince of pain, which she tries to brush off without acknowledging it.

“I knew you had your gadgets, but I would imagine a good deal of this isn’t exactly public knowledge..?” she asks tentatively, wanting some confirmation, as well as making the unspoken suggestion that should that be the case, Nadia not fear the information going any further than necessary.

"It's not," the older woman confirms, producing a small spike about the size of a pencil from the satchel. "And I mean to keep it that way. Had circumstances turned out differently, you still wouldn't know. Obviously it would attract some attention were Konrad or I to turn away a hail of gunfire or the like, but until something like that happens it's an advantage we prefer to keep secret."

Naiya nods quietly, understanding all too well. What all may or may not be known about her own mother’s ‘enhancements’, she has always been careful not to make mention. It was all part and parcel of growing up as they had, really. Secrets were necessary. And what was done, was done with an eye towards survival, and an edge over one’s enemies. Perfectly understandable, however interesting a topic it might be for conversation at a more appropriate time. What concerned her more at the moment was that spike, and the likely reason for it’s introduction.

“What do you intend for us do now?” she asks instead, figuring it best to focus on the problems facing them here and now, and not on what’s no doubt coming next. “And do you have any idea of what caused that disruption on the ship?”

"I don't know," Nadia answers simply. "Do you need another syrette? This might hurt a bit."

The girl wets her lip, then nods. “Only if it won’t make me useless for the next while though,” she replies, glancing around nervously, and noticing for the first time that Kane had quietly slipped away some time after setting her down. No doubt to carry on with his duties, but still. His firm hand would have been nice to hold on to through this, for support if nothing else.

Nadia applies another syrette and waits a few more moments before applyingi the device. “Here it comes,” she warns. “It’ll still hurt a bit.” She applies the spike to Naiya’s shin and presses the plunger on top, sending it about half an inch into the bone.

Even with the pain meds, it’s as bad as Naiya expects and then some. She grits her teeth and clenches her fists as the spike goes all the way into the bone of her broken shin. She tenses and presses back against the sturdy tree trunk, and closes her eyes, waiting for the process to run its course, trying to occupy her mind with other more pleasant things. She has no doubt that later she’ll be glad Nadia had the tech on hand.

*********

Not far from where the Angsiyii tended to the Dominion heiress, Kane began to conduct an inventory of their supplies and arrange some for transport if need be. A rescue team would be forthcoming from Daturias soon enough, but they would be out there for some hours at least and the possibility existed that they would have to stay the night in the wildnerness.

Nadia had already begun preparing packs for the party while she had waited for them, and Kane set about to finishing her work. He also sets aside some rations for himself and Naiya: the Angsiyii had apparently already helped herself to plenty of metabolite--most likely to replenish the energy consumed by her micro-gravitic implants.

The wind is gusting, but suddenly Kane can hear movement in the brush not too far away. One, two of them, probably attracted by the crash. Definitely not Orcs by the sound of it; whatever was over there moved too quickly and too quietly. The Vzj'Nakai stops his work and drops to a crouch, and begins to stalk towards the first sound at an angle.

Halfway to his target he can tell it doesn't know he's there, but no less cautiously he peeks his head over the ridge. It's a warg, a male judging by its size. He watches it poke through some debris for a moment as he silently draws a blade a little longer than a man's forearm.

He judges the drop. It was short, about 8 feet, it looked like. One more breath and he's up to his feet and over the ridge. He drops down towards the beast, aiming to land on his shoulders and decapitate him.

The warg finally notices his opponent a split second before impact and barely evades the tackle by lunging forward, but the Vzj'Nakai's extends his arm as he lands and sails his blade through the beast’s left rear leg. The warg cries out with a painful roar and Kane is after him in an instant, planting his blade in the beast's skull as it tries to struggle back to a fighting position.

Then the second one came. Another male, Kane could tell at the last second. "Motherf---!" he cries out as the beast collides with him.

---

¹ - ‘Metabolite’ is the catch-all term used by Ardans to refer to the material to be transmuted in an alchemic reaction.

[The Dawn Paragons]

The Iron Deeps, Mars.

"Warpcraft."
The word is delivered in a rasp, dragged from the speaker's lips like an animal from its burrow, it hangs on the chill air of the darkened room, ominous and potent.

A second voice, this a powerful baritone coming from a red-draped figure, sinuous movement stirring the shadows around him as he speaks, there is purpose to the movements, but none comprehensible to the other watchers.
"Agreed. Nothing else could overwhelm both astropathic means of communication and that of the Mechanicus, which means..."
The first speaker again, hooded in blue robes, face shadowed except for a glow of red where eyes should be.
"It means that whatever did this is a daemonic entity. Blanket transmission on this scale is beyond any unsupported mortal and the...tone, of the message, and its content, argues against any techno-sorcerous amplification."

A third speaker, this one robed in a black that is only slightly darker than his skin rasps a thumb across his chin.
"And yet it is...uncontrolled, yes, brothers? Surely a controlled use of such power would be more direct, more potent than a broadcast of what, we must concede, was a failure."
The blue cowl of the first speaker ripples as the individual within shakes his head.
"No, Master Sanctifier, I think you misread the intent. It is not merely a transmission of a botched attempt to destabilise half a dozen nations, but a threat and a promise. The entity wants it to be known that it can transmit like this, that it can reach out and display power, that it has..returned."

An other speaker, white robe gleaming in the darkness brightly enough to dispel the lambent green glow of an augmetic eye raises a questioning brow.
"Can we be sure it is what we suspect? There are other entities out there with power enough to ripple the warp, it might merely be targeting those it has struck at for a diversionary measure."

The black cowl and blue shake in counterpoint, the blue defers to black.
"I think not Neothon. Their target is strong, very, very strong. Of all the individual Solar powers it is perhaps the most potent and...whilst we may not trust the other polity involved, we must admit that they sit at the centre of a web that if jangled would bring the power of a Segmentum down on the head of a challenger. No. Challenging whom it has challenged is the act of one supremely motivated and little else motivates so well as revenge, so we must make no mistake, no other would do this."

Silence.
It holds for a long moment, these men have fought daemons before, fought many strange and horrible things under twisted and terrible suns, but the machinations of the Ruinous Powers have their patterns, their own revolting logic, whilst Chaos is Chaotic, it is a known thing.
This other daemon is not the same however, it is not an excresence of emotion projecting from the warp, it will not drive elementally, unswervingly for a single goal, it will writhe and skitter in pursuit of power more concrete than that of the warp entities they have fought before, guile and evil combined in an entity as old as suns, a wellspring of bitterness stretching into infinity.

And yet, these men are not men, no, they are the Adeptus Astartes, they are the champions of Mankind and they are familiar enough with the stories, legends and history of the creature's past intrusions into the world of men.
It can be beaten.
It will be beaten.

A final speaker, this one cowled in the Paragons' forest green laces his fingers between him.
"Very well. Our enemy is a warpspawn of titanic power, true, but in the past he has rarely struck physically himself and then has generally been chased off by abhumans with swords. It is treachery we must watch for, but not in the places we might expect, no. I think, brothers, that we could do worse than to keep a very close eye on those supposedly targeted in this strike, if not because it was misdirection, then certainly because if the enemy wishes them dead, we wish them alive."
He pauses a moment, closing his eyes in thought.
"Diplomatic missions I think. We have snarled at both polities in the past to no effect, rationalising relations with them is a logical enough step so it shouldn't be regarded as too suspect, especially in light of both apparently edging towards a newer generation of leaders. Yes."
The white-robed Neothon gives him a quizzical look.
"Diplomacy might not be enough, brother mine, should we not-"
The green robe raises a hand.
"Oh we will certainly divert troops to Sol as well as reinforcing our dispersion outside the system, but brute power is not going to be the issue here and if it is, Sol can look after that herself, no Neothon, we are the Emperor's Space Marines, ours must be a more surgical fight, we must be in a position to strike immediately, should the effort require it,"
He pauses, face grim.
"And in whatever direction is necessary."

++MESSAGE BEGINS++
++THOUGHT FOR THE DAY: FAITH IS AS A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS++

To whom it may concern, this message is dispatched you as part of an effort by Legio II to enhance the delivery of Imperial Truth to the citizens of Holy Terra, those this message addresses have in the past clashed with the efforts of this Legion and it is felt that given recent events an effort to promote greater understanding between Legio II and the addressed would not be unwise, especially in light of the importance to general Solar politics. of both polities addressed herein.
Thus, this message requests permission for a dispatch of diplomatic parties to the leaderships of the Five Kingdoms of Arda and the Dominion of Dread Lady Nathicana.

++MESSAGE ENDS++